Lalaith Elerrina, Ward of Rivendell
by LalaithElerrina
Summary: Lalaith is a young elf, raised in Rivendell, her origins a mystery. What will become of her, and those she loves if she joins the Fellowship on their quest?
1. Prologue

Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell

**August 18, 2003** _Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Lalaith Elerrina

Prologue

A night wind stirred through the trees at the edge of the forest, helping, in a small way, to calm the tense nerves of the young elven warrior as he perched on a low tree branch.

One hand clutched a slender limb for support, while the other hefted the familiar, comfortable weight of his bow. The soft wind plucked gently at him, brushing, almost playfully, at his golden hair, hanging past his shoulders. Two slim braids behind his peaked ears, and one larger braid at the back of his head, the style of forest elves, kept the hair from blowing in front of his keen blue eyes as they scanned the treeless plain below him.

Dark, frightening rumors of orc patrols about the borders of their forest had been coming to the ears of his father with increasing regularity, and the elven warrior gazed out at the dark, moonlit plain with apprehension. His comrades had moved on from this place at the edge of the trees, for they had sensed nothing out of place here, yet he, for reasons unknown, even to him, had chosen to remain behind for a moment.

Perhaps his decision had been unwise, he sighed ruefully to himself. His ageless face, at once both child-like and manly, frowned softly. There seemed to be nothing out of place on the vast greenness before him. He knew he should join the safety of his group, but he knew that orcs had learned over the ages, how to deceive even the senses of elves. And so he perched here, unsure, indecisive.

He sighed at last, shaking his head at his foolishness, and leapt silently to the ground, his soft boots making not the slightest sound as he lighted on the forest floor. Were orcs here, he reminded himself, he would be at a disadvantage, having willfully separated himself from his fellows as he had. He turned and took a step to follow after them. They were not far away, and it would take but a few moments to catch them.

But then something stopped him. At first he could not tell what it was. A sound, perhaps? An unknown scent? He turned, darted from the shadows of the trees to the edge of the moonlight, and once again scanned the horizon, his smooth brow furrowing with concern. And then his heart leapt within him. Speeding toward him, from the south-east, was a dark shape, a horse, he knew instantly, with a rider upon its back. A human. His eyes widened in alarm. A female human. Long slender shapes, his heart gave a painful thud, arrows, protruded from the haunches of the poor beast, and even from the back of its rider, who still managed to stay mounted, though she was clearly in agony, barely conscious, he could see, one hand clutching the mane of her horse, the other clasping something small, shrouded in white, to her chest. Something terribly important, he guessed, from the way she seemed to crush it against her.

And then, the reason for the haggard woman's flight burst into sight over the distant ridge the woman and her mount had descended only moments before. Five massive wolves, mounted by the hunched shapes of orcs, cleared the rill, and the harsh blood cry of orcs on the trail of their prey pierced his ears.

The woman glanced over her shoulder, and in that moment, almost fell from the back of her horse, but managed to clutch herself closer to its back, and urge the spent beast ever faster. The elf's blood boiled then, and giving a shrill whistle to summon his comrades, burst into a dead sprint away from the safety of his trees, not pausing to consider the foolishness of his actions, straight toward the approaching horse and its five pursuers.

As he ran, snatching an arrow from his quiver as he did, he saw, with a sinking heart, the swiftest wolf draw alongside the horse, and its mount draw back on the string of a bow, and let fly. The arrow pierced the horse through the ribs, just behind its front leg.

The poor creature stumbled, and went down, throwing the woman from its back. She released a cry of fear and terror as she fell, but immediately she was on her feet, stumbling in pain, and still clutching her precious package to herself. The elf paused, only long enough to draw his bowstring back, sight down the shaft of his arrow at the snarling wolf which was closing in on her, and release the string.

A high pierced canine shriek told him he had struck his mark true, and then the wolf fell, its unlucky rider pinned beneath it as it rolled on its back. A sickening crunch told him he would not need to waste an arrow on the orc. Neither rider nor mount rose again.

The woman looked back and gasped in surprise, then looked forward again, and saw him. Fear gripped her features for a moment, and she stumbled to a halt, frightened and unsure. He remembered then, that her vision was not as keen as his own, and in the shadows of night, she took him for a foe rather than a friend.

"I am an elf of Mirkwood, an ally." He called gently to her in the common tongue, hoping to sooth her.

Relief flooded the woman's features, and she stumbled forward. "Please, I beg of you, help us. I have not the strength-," She pleaded as her legs buckled beneath her, and she stumbled to her knees.

Without further words, he darted past her, and strung another arrow. He loosed it at the oncoming group of four, and the lead wolf shrieked, then tumbled into the grass, once again rolling and crushing its master beneath it. His movements as fluid as water, he rapidly strung and released three more arrows, cleanly bringing down the mounts of the other orcs, but the dark shadows of his foes, having seen their fellow orcs crushed, threw themselves clear of their downed mounts, and drew their wicked black blades as they rolled to their feet. In response, he drew his own knives, white, glistening in the light of the moon, and darted at them, his senses strung.

The first orc snarled as he brought his fearsome black blade down, as if attempting to slice him down the middle, but the elf twisted deftly out of the way, spinning his knives and plunging them into the orc's abdomen. Without a pause, he yanked them free, and turned to face the last two foul, shrieking creatures. They both came at him as one, howling madly, their blades whirling in their fists. He ducked the blow of the first orc, then using the creature's bent back as a spring board, vaulted over the head of the second orc, to land cat-like on his feet behind his foes. The bewildered orcs, no longer seeing the elf in front of them did not have the chance to turn before his white knifes cut them both down from behind. They fell silently into the grass at his feet.

The flurry was past, the night once again silent, and unchanged but for the dark foul masses littering the grass around him, and for the form of the woman struggling for breath. She had fallen to her side, the bundle snuggled against her.

Darting quickly to her side, he once again noted the cruel arrows protruding from her back. That she was still alive at all, was a miracle. He replaced his bow and knives and knelt over her, his face softened with compassion as he rested a hand on her cold, trembling brow. She was older than he would have guessed. Her hair, in a tangled disarray, was gray with age.

"What of my brave Rorin?" She whispered, turning her head to look up at him.

He shook his head sorrowfully. "I am sorry-," He had seen the arrow strike her steed, and knew the shaft had pierced its heart.

The woman sighed brokenly, her eyes closed in grief for a brief moment, before she opened them and pushed the small white bundle into his hands.

"Take her." She murmured. A shiver drove through her frail body, and he instinctively knew she had but moments of life left.

His eyes widened in amazement as he lifted the bundle gently, and felt the warm soft movement of an infant within the cloth.

"Do not worry, brave lady." He murmured, brushing the woman's cheek. "No harm will come to your child."

"Not mine." The woman whispered, shaking her head. She put out a trembling hand, and brushed the cloth from the infant's face. "Elf-child."

In the clear, silver light of the full moon, Legolas saw now, the smooth elfish features, and the peaked ears that marked the infant's race. The baby who stirred now, and opened sleepy eyes was so tiny, so vulnerable, he marked to himself, yet so beautiful. Her hair was thick and golden, and her eyes as they blinked up at him, were blindingly blue.

The baby studied him with quiet intensity, before she opened her tiny red mouth, and cooed softly, as if trying to speak to him. At the sound, the woman smiled, and tears shone in her eyes.

"Her father, mother, dead. Rivendell, kin." She murmured, her voice fading fast.

"Elrond." the woman drew in a trembling sigh, murmuring as her breath escaped her,

"Lalaith."

Legolas nodded quickly, hoping to give the woman some final comfort. "I will see to it that she is taken to Rivendell."

The woman nodded wearily, and lay her head down upon her arm, closing her eyes.

Legolas waited for her to draw another breath, but it never came. Gently, he touched the woman's lined forehead.

"Be at peace, daughter of Men." He murmured, gently closing her still open eyes, and brushing his fingers against her cold cheek.

"Prince Legolas!" The cry came from behind him as his companions came sprinting across the plain to him, pulling to a stop as they came to the mounds of dark, unmoving shapes. "Are you injured?" The first elf demanded.

Legolas shook his head, rising wearily to his feet. "I have found an elf-child." He explained, turning the infant so that they could see her face. "They slew her nurse, and her mount."

"Orcs?!"

"Wolf riders." Legolas nodded.

"And you defeated them all?" Another elf queried.

"She is the kin of Lord Elrond, so her nurse said before she died." Legolas explained, ignoring the stunned looks the others gave him. "We will take her to Imladris." Nodding to the still body of the dead woman, he spoke, "One of you, carry the body of her nurse. We will bury her beneath the trees of Mirkwood, in great honor."

"But prince, the woman is mortal." One of the younger elves gently protested.

Legolas' voice was even, but there was an edge in it as he turned on the elf who had spoken. "Mortal or no, she died saving another." He said. "A child who was not hers, nor even of her race. If you have not the stomach, I will carry her myself."

The elves no longer argued as he handed the baby to one of them who took the child gingerly, seemingly not sure what to do with her as Legolas stooped and easily lifted the limp body in his arms.

He gazed down at her lined face, which had taken on a soft aura of peace. The woman's name, he realized, he did not even know, nor how she had come by the child. There were many questions that remained, but with her death, would never be answered.

"Let us go home." He said, indicating to the shadowed line of trees that marked the borders of their land. Without further words he started back for the forest as his companions fell into step behind him.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The practiced eye of the elf-maiden sighted down the arrow's shaft, the string of her bow pulled back to her cheek. All about her, she could hear the comforting sounds of the rising morning, the unending hiss of water pouring from the falls that surrounded Imladris, and the cheerful cry of morning birds awakening. But her thoughts were focused on nothing but the wooden target before her. Her string released with a twang, followed immediately by the familiar thunk of her arrow, burying itself in the center of her target. She grinned and drew another arrow from her quiver. Fitting the nock to her bowstring, she once again drew it back to her cheek, sighted at her goal, and released the string. The arrow struck its mark true, and the girl smiled with satisfaction, seeing the first arrow split cleanly down the middle by the second shaft. Her hand moved to reach for a third arrow, when a welcome voice stopped her.

"Hail, Lady Lalaith, second lovliest maiden of Rivendell."

Turning abruptly, her eyes lighting with joy, she cried, "Cousin Aragorn!"

The man had appeared behind her, pausing beneath the arching gate, a smile of greeting on his bearded face. There was a tired looking brown horse standing behind him, the reins resting in the hands of one of three smaller characters, more hobbits, she guessed, huddled shyly together as they gazed up at her with wide eyes. She barely noticed them as she took in Aragorn's welcome appearance. He wore the look she had grown accustomed to since his coming into adulthood, the worn, scuffed look of a ranger, and she guessed it had been weeks since he last bathed. But she did not care as she came forward and embraced him, casting aside the characteristic restraint of the elves.

"It is good to have you back, cousin." She sighed, stepping back to look up at the man she looked upon as a brother. "Since Arwen's coming with the first hobbit, we have been waiting for you. She has been worried-,"

"So Arwen arrived safely?" Aragorn burst, without letting the elf-maiden finish.

Lalaith grinned. "She arrived with nothing more than a small scratch. You would be proud of her."

"Where is she?" He asked, almost breathlessly, glancing about as if hoping to catch sight of her.

"In her father's house, of course." Lalaith giggled. "Go to her. I will see to the pony, and your friends."

Grasping her hand in a gesture of thanks, Aragorn darted off, leaving her alone with the three hobbits who continued to stare up at her with wide eyes and open mouths.

"Welcome to Rivendell, dear hobbits." She smiled, and spoke in the common speech she knew they would understand, restraining laughter at the looks of surprise that came onto their faces as she addressed them, shocked that an elf-maid would deem them worthy to be addressed by her. "Have you no tongues?" She asked teasingly after a moment of stunned silence.

The three of them glanced at each other, abashed, before two of them nudged the one holding the reins of the pony, a stout little hobbit with an honest looking face, who seemed to be the leader.

"Begging your pardon, m'- m'lady." He finally spoke, stepping forward, twisting the horse's reins nervously in his hand. "We, we're just a little taken back is all. I-, we didn't know girl elves could do that sort of thing." He nodded at her target.

She glanced down at the bow in her hand, and smiled. "My Uncle Elrond saw to it that Arwen, and I, were taught the skills of fighting, just as the men of our people have learned."

One of the remaining hobbits piped in cheefully, "Have you ever been in a scrap then, er battle, er" He stuttered. "Have you ever killed any orcs?"

"Once, two hundred years ago." She nodded, but added quickly, "But far away from here. Our kindred in Loth Lorien had a band of orcs wandering near their land. The elves from Mirkwood sent a contingent, and my uncle sent me and my cousins with some of our Rivendell elves. We helped drive them back across the river."

"Oh." The stout hobbit in the front nodded, impressed. "Whoever taught you then, must be quite good, too."

Lalaith dropped her eyes at the hobbit's words, feeling the familiar rush of blood to her face whenever she thought of the one of whom the hobbit was speaking, and felt the ache that was painful, yet sweet at the same time. "He is." She nodded, hearing the quaver in her voice as she pictured his fair face in her mind. She glanced up to see the hobbit shuffle his feet shyly, and shook herself back to the present.

"Oh, forgive me." She smiled. "Of course, you must be tired, and hungry, your horse as well. Follow me." She turned away down a tree lined path as the hobbits trailed after her. "I will take you to the stables, and see to your horse's needs-," she glanced at them over her shoulder, "oh, and what is his name?"

"B-Bill, m'lady." The first hobbit said.

"And yours?"

"I'm Samwise Gamgee." He said. "My friends call me Sam."

"Then I would be honored if I was granted the privilege of calling you Sam as well."

The hobbit smiled at this, and ducked his head shyly.

"I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, m'lady." The second hobbit said. "But Merry's fine."

The hobbit who had stuttered before, pipped in, "I'm Pip- Pippin-, Peregrine-," He stammered to a stop, blushing bright red.

"If I am allowed, I will call you whatever your friends do." Lalaith offered, smiling sympathetically at his embarrassment.

"Pip, then." Merry offered helpfully. "Don't mind him. He's a _Took_."

Lalaith smiled as Pip glared at Merry.

"Um, begging your pardon, m'lady," Sam asked, scurrying to walk beside her, "but I've been mighty worried about Frodo. Is there anyway you could take me to him?"

"Of course. My uncle has seen to his injury, and he is beyond the danger now. Gandalf is here with him-," she paused as a low murmur of happiness came from each of the hobbits, "but I'm certain he would be very happy to see you too, Sam, when he awakens."

She turned forward and drew to a stop seeing the stables before her. "Here we are." She offered her bow and quiver to Sam. "Will you hold these for me while I see to Bill?" She asked Sam.

Wordlessly, Sam took her things from her, and handed over the reins as he and the other two hobbits followed after her into the stable.

"Asfaloth." She smiled in greeting, rubbing the white nose of the first horse with a gentle hand before moving on to an empty stall and leading Bill inside. She gently removed his reins, and packs, before she began to carefully brush him down.

"You don't have to do that, m'lady." Sam offered, coming forward. "I could."

"I don't mind." Lalaith said with a smile, running a hand over the coarse brown coat that shivered with pleasure at her touch. "I have a special place in my heart for horses." She glanced at Sam's kind, round face and added, "One died to save my life once."

The hobbits looked at each other, surprised.

"Rorin, his name was." She said, almost under her breath. She worked in silence until she was finished, then scooped a bucket of oats into his manger.

"Come Sam," she said, rallying herself, and smiling down at them once again. "I'll take you to Frodo's room."

**************

Elrond strode purposefully along the balcony, his face a mask of staid concentration as he made his way to the room of healing where the Hobbit, Frodo Baggins lay recovering, but still unconscious. His robes swished softly about him as he walked, his feet tapping softly over the marble tiles that lined the corridor. To his left, the constant rush of water, accompanied by the sound of birdsong filled the air, but he could not hear it. His concentration was riveted on one thought alone. _The ring was here_. Here in Imladris. The One Ring, cut from the hand of Sauron himself by Isildur, three thousand years before.

In spite of himself, he flinched and his step slowed, the memory coming back as clearly as when he had been there, standing once again at the edge of the precipice in the heart of Mount Doom. Sweat and orc blood caked his clothing and armor, his body aching from the strain and horror of battle. Elrond could still feel the heated wind sweeping up around him, whipping his cloak about, sucking the air from his lungs.

"Cast it into the fire!" He shouted to Isildur who stood behind him, rolling the ring between his thumb and forefinger, gazing at it as if he saw nothing else. "Isildur!" He cried out again.

Isildur lifted his eyes then, a look of smug disdain on his face. "No." The word was a whisper, but the sound of it echoed off the cavernous walls surrounding them.

"_Isildur_?!" Elrond fairly screamed as the man turned his back on him, succumbing to the seduction of the ring, and departed the way he had come, the vile tool of Sauron cradled safely in the palm of his hand.

"Uncle?" A clear, musical voice filled with care and concern broke the spell of his stupor, and he lifted his head, surprised to realize he had stopped, and was leaning heavily on the balustrade, his head bent in exhaustion.

The voice that had been spoken belonged to a young elf-maiden who stood at his shoulder, her shining blue eyes gazing up into his with worry. She held a silver tray in her hands, laden with a decanter of wine with two glasses beside it. She set it down on a table beside her, and put a hand lightly on his arm. "Are you well, Uncle Elrond?" She repeated.

The girl's touch helped to sooth him, and he straightened, smiling gratefully down into her soft, caring eyes. Though it had been more than a thousand years, it seemed as if only days had passed since the Elves of Mirkwood had brought a tiny, golden haired stranger through the gates of Rivendell along with an astonishing and perplexing story to tell. He had known nothing more of the child's mysterious origin than the Mirkwood Elves had, but still he had taken in the child as one of his own, and she had flourished under the watchful and delighted care of his wife, Celebrian, and his daughter, Arwen, and yes, he smiled to himself, his own. The name her dying nurse had given her, was Lalaith, laughter, and it was well bestowed, for she seemed to find delight in all that was about her. To this name, he had added a name of his own choosing, Elerrina, for the gold of her hair shimmered as if it were crowned with stars. She had become as a daughter to him, and it had been a joy to watch her grow to womanhood over the last millennium. He blessed the day that Legolas, the son of King Thranduil, had brought her here, for he could not imagine life without the bright eyed, golden haired girl who stood beside him now, gazing up at him with concern furrowing her otherwise smooth brow.

"I am well, Lalaith." He nodded at last. "Only a little weary."

Lalaith sighed a breath of relief, and stepped back, taking up her tray again. "Aragorn has arrived, did you know? And he brought the other hobbits with him. One especially, Sam, he is called, was happy to hear that Frodo was still with us."

Elrond smiled. "Yes, the wound is healing. Thankfully, he was not yet beyond our aid."

Lalaith nodded, satisfied, and turned as if to continue down the corridor when Elrond asked, "And you, Lalaith?"

The girl turned to him, a question in her eyes. "I have not been wounded by the Nazgul, Uncle." She smiled. "Of course I am unhurt."

"Oh?" He asked, reaching out, and taking the tray from her hands, setting it once again on the table beside him. "I have been neglectful of you lately, my duties focused elsewhere, but I am not so ignorant that I have not noticed a change in you. You name means laughter, but I have heard little these past several months since you and your cousins returned from your last journey to the Mirkwood. I have been worrying about you."

At this, Lalaith bit her lip and visibly blushed, as her eyes shot down to her clasped hands. A ring of gold, set with a blue sapphire he had given her for her seven hundredth birthday became the sudden focus of her attention as she twisted it around on her long, slender finger.

"Is there something you wish to speak of with me?" He asked gently, resting a hand softly on her shoulder.

Lalaith smiled weakly, sadly, and glanced away.

"Come. Sit down." Elrond beckoned to a stone bench set against the wall. "Tell me your thoughts."

"But Frodo-," Lalaith murmured weakly, though she followed Elrond, and sat down.

"I have seen to Frodo's wound." Elrond smiled, his eyes studying the girl's intently. "But the wound upon your young heart is still unhealed."

"Surely, Uncle, there are other, more pressing obligations that you must see to." She stammered, twisting her ring. "With the coming of the One Ring here to Imladris, the future has become so uncertain. The hidden thoughts of a maiden's heart must seem of little importance in the eyes of one such as yourself-,"

"Not when that maiden is one who is as a daughter to me." Elrond returned gently.

"You say I am one who is as a daughter, but I am not your daughter." Lalaith sighed, her voice remote, her eyes gazing away from him to some distant, imagined scene. "I have no parents, no bloodline to speak of. I am nothing. No more than a castoff, a foundling. I am your ward, raised as a princess only because of your great heart, and your generosity. And because I am not truly of noble blood, I am unworthy of-" She could not finish.

Elrond watched her fair, tormented face, her soft bottom lip as it trembled with reserved emotion. Her eyes would not lift to his, but he knew without looking into them, that he would see pain, and a heart that was breaking.

"I wonder," He began, speaking slowly, and carefully, "if the mortal woman who died saving you would think of you in the same way. As nothing. As a castoff, a foundling."

Lalaith sighed, but said nothing, and did not look up.

"I do not know why she spoke the words she did as she died." Elrond continued. "Why she spoke my name, and the name of Rivendell. But I do know this." He leaned forward and placed a hand firmly, yet with gentleness on Lalaith's slender shoulder. "You belong here. You _are_ a princess, noble, brave and kind, and-," he tucked his finger under her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to look up at him through eyes shining with tears, "worthy of the love of the son of King Thranduil."

Lalaith gasped suddenly, and her hands flew to her flushed face as she glanced away. Elrond leaned back and sighed. He had guessed right.

"How did you know?" Lalaith whispered. "Not even Arwen, not Elladan nor Elrohir guessed, and they were with me in Mirkwood when-,"

She looked up at him, and studied his sober gray eyes that gazed on her with fatherly compassion, and suddenly felt the need to share all that was in her heart with this man who had been as her father for longer that she could remember.

"Oh, Uncle Elrond." She gasped, and with a sudden sob, fell against his shoulder where he gathered her close, like a child, hushing her gently, and stroking her hair as her tears subsided. "There are so many things I am unsure of. So many questions I have about myself, my past, that have never been answered. That never can be answered. You have not the time to listen to me, when my uncertainty in who I am is of so little importance."

Elrond's brow furrowed at this, but he shook his head. "For you, I would listen to the thoughts of your heart, if your story took all the ages of this world to tell."

Lalaith sighed brokenly, and pushed back, brushing the tears from her cheeks. "Truly?"

Elrond smiling gently, and nodded his encouragement.

Taking courage from the gentle patience she saw in Elrond's eyes, she drew in another jagged breath, and began her story.


	3. Chapter 2

**Lalaith Elerrina--Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 2**

**September 2, 2004**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 2

"You have grown so beautiful, these last seventy years since we have been to the Mirkwood, Lalaith." Arwen purred as she pulled an ivory handled brush through her younger cousin's golden tresses. Lalaith sat before the gilded mirror in the ariea that had been prepared for them by the maids of Queen Aseaiel for the two cousins, her eyes closed, her chin resting on her hands as she listened to the soft tones of her cousin's voice, and felt the gentle pull of the brush through her flaxen hair. "When the prince sees you, he will be stricken speechless."

Lalaith slowly opened her eyes as her cousin said these words to look up at Arwen's reflection. Arwen smirked a secret thought to herself as their eyes met, and went back to her work of brushing Lalaith's glistening golden tresses, expertly twisting locks of hair about a delicate golden circlet set with a single sapphire which rested against her forehead.

Arwen's eyes did not meet the younger elfmaid's glance again, but the soft smile did not leave her face as she worked, and Lalaith turned her eyes onto her own reflection, wondering what it was about Arwen's words that had troubled her so.

Behind her, she could see the rest of their circular chamber, perched high in the misty branches of one of the mighty, ageless trees of the forest. The ceiling was a woven growth of branches and leaves, and the walls were of pearlescent gossamer, billowing at the slightest breath of air.

The memory of their journey from Imladris was but a faint memory now, though they had arrived but hours before. She had bathed, washing the dust of travel from her skin and hair, and had donned a fresh gown of silvery sky blue, open at her throat, her sleeves flowing down in swaths of cloudlike silk at her elbows, giving her the appearance of a small, frail bird.

"But Legolas has seen me since we last came here to the Mirkwood." Lalaith answered at last, feeling a strange need to counter Arwen's words. "He has been to Imladris," she counted on her long, tapered fingers, "seven times."

"Ah, yes." Arwen smiled, keeping her eyes on her work.

"As an emissary for his father." Lalaith hastened to add.

"Yes, of course." Arwen readily agreed with a nod.

Of course, Lalaith acknowledged in her mind, the last time he had come to Rivendell, he had spent far more time with her than he had on whatever task he had claimed his father had sent him to perform. She could still remember the long rides they had taken on Rána, his grey-white horse, her arms wrapped tightly about Legolas' lean waist, her chin on his shoulder as she laughingly implored him to urge Rána ever faster. And the afternoons in the green gardens of her Uncle's house, her skirts gathered beneath her as she sat on the cool grass, reading aloud from one of her uncle's many books as Legolas rested his head in her lap, his eyes closed, smiling whenever Lalaith would touch his face or smooth her fingers through his golden hair, teasing him about falling asleep.

Lalaith pressed a hand against her heart and glanced down, troubled with potent feelings. Of course there was no reason she should be distressed so, she counseled herself within her mind. She and Legolas had been fond of each other since before she could remember. After all, it was he who had slain the orcs to save her as an infant, and had brought her to her Uncle Elrond's house. And two hundred years before, in the skirmish with the orcs near Lothlórien, it had been her arrow that had caught the orc in the throat before it could cut Legolas down from behind. It was natural that a strong bond of friendship should develop between them.

But Lalaith frowned even as the thought came to her mind, for she knew that over the past several centuries, her own feelings of friendship had been gradually changing to something more than the childish camaraderie she had felt for him in the first millennium of her life. The truth, she could no longer deny in her heart, was that she longed to be with him, to see his face, his smile directed at her, to feel his touch. The very sight of him was purely intoxicating. But her heart wrenched when she remembered the reality of who she was. Who she was _not_, she reminded herself. She was the ward of Rivendell, Elrond's charge only because he had taken her in to raise as his own child. She was, in truth, an unknown orphan, unworthy of the attentions of such a great prince as Legolas.

"I should be the one combing your hair, Arwen." She sighed, gazing up into the other elf-maiden's beautiful face.

"Why?" Arwen smiled. "The one I love is not here in Mirkwood to see me." She laughed lightly at her own words as Lalaith dropped her eyes, feeling her face growing warm.

Lalaith could think of nothing to say to this, and was grateful when the queen, Aseaiel, appeared on the stairs with one of her maids at her side. Aseaiel's generous smile seemed to embrace the two elf-maidens, her gaze resting longer on Lalaith, as she announced, "Supper is ready, and I have come to bid our honored guests to share our table."

"Has Prince Legolas arrived home, yet? Will he be eating with us?" Lalaith blurted, rising quickly to her feet before she could stop herself.

"Alas, no. And I must beg your pardon for his behavior. He should have been at his father's side to greet your contingent upon your arrival." Queen Aseaiel answered, seeming to be pleased by the question as she traded an amused glance with Arwen.

"May I humbly beg your leave then, your highness?" Lalaith pleaded. "I am not hungry, and it has been far too long since I have last paid homage to the tomb of the mortal woman who saved my life."

Queen Aseaiel did not seem disturbed by her request, but rather, by her smile of quiet delight, seemed pleased. "Your devotion to her memory is admirable. Of course you may go."

"I thank you, your highness." Lalaith said, scurrying to the stairs. "Please give my apologies to your husband, and household."

The queen nodded, her eyes dancing in happiness as the elf-maiden brushed past her, and began to descend the circular steps as quickly as decorum would allow. Behind her, Arwen had joined the queen at the top of the steps, and she thought she could hear Aseaiel whispering delightedly to her, "I foresee a union between the houses of Thranduil and Elrond, think you so?"

Lalaith sighed brokenly once she reached the floor of the forest, and turned onto the trail she knew as well in the muted light of the forest night as she did during the daylight.

She paused along the well worn trail to stoop and pluck a handful of delicate blue flowers growing in a bunch at the foot of a tree. She had taken this path countless times over the many years of her life, and though the night was wane, she knew her course well through these trees. She felt as safe and protected within the shelter of these woods as she did in the vale of Imladris.

The path dipped and turned through the rills of the forest, through striations of light and dark, and came at last to two stone monuments. The first to her left, was a square block with a figure of a horse carved in relief into its surface. Beneath the image, the single word, "Rorin" was carved in the letters of the common speech.

"I owe you many thanks, brave Rorin." Lalaith whispered, placing half of the flowers upon the carved horse, and stepped away to the second tomb. The monument for the old mortal woman was a near replica of the tomb in Imladris of Aragorn's mother, the Lady Gilraen, and it pleased Lalaith that they were similar, for Aragorn's mother had been kind and benevolent, as this mortal woman also must have been. It was a carved image of a human woman with a sweet, lovely face, seated, her arms outstretched as if beckoning a small child into her lap. The words at the feet of the image carved in elfish characters read simply, "Nurse of Lalaith Elerrina, Lady of Imladris".

Both tombs showed the inevitable wear of time, but there were no vines creeping over them, as she had expected.

Even the ground around the monuments, was clear of vegetation. Someone had been caring for the graves. Lalaith smiled in gratitude, reminding herself to ask Queen Aseaiel who it was.

"Thank you." Lalaith murmured simply, speaking in the common tongue as she set her bouquet of flowers into the still, stone woman's lap, hoping that somewhere, this woman could hear her, and understand. "I am alive because of you, and I do not even know your name." She could feel tears pushing into her eyes as she gazed up at the time worn face. "There are so many things I do not know that I wish I did. I wish I knew who my parents were, who you were," she dropped her eyes, and murmured, "who I am." She looked up, her glance apologetic. "Forgive me. I do not wish to be ungrateful. You were able to tell Prince Legolas so very little before you died, but I know you told him all you could. What you felt was of greatest importance. And you must have loved me very much." A tear fell from her eye, and splashed against the edge of the stone. "I wish I knew why."

Gathering her skirts beneath her, Lalaith knelt at the feet of the stone statue, and pressed her forehead against the cold, unyielding stone as more tears came, streaming down her cheeks. They were tears not only for the mortal woman whose remains rested beneath the stone, but for herself as well, for the answers to her questions that had died with the old woman.

A lithe shadow paused behind her on the trail, one who had been following her since she had reached the base of the tree at the bottom of the steps. He had not alerted her of his presence at once, wanting instead, to simply watch her as she walked, marveling at her grace of movement, the shine of her hair in the muted light, the perfection of her maidenly form, and the achingly exquisite beauty of her soft face.

It was hard to believe that this beautiful maiden could have once been the laughing child for whom he had once braided flowers into royal crowns for her golden little head, the devoted little playmate he had once loved to toss into the air, listening to her silvery laugh as he caught her again. Indeed she had been, at one time, in centuries now gone. But she was no longer a child. And with that change, the ways in which he had loved her, had changed as well.

His devotion to her had remained constant. His desire to protect her, and fulfill her happiness had continued unchanged as well. But his love for her, which had once been no more than friendship, had deepened as she had made the transformation from child to woman, a change as gradual and as natural as the dark of night slowly gives way to the golden light of morning.

His heart ached now, to see her this way, grieving as if her heart was broken. He had heard the words she had whispered, and knew that it was not only the old mortal woman for whom she mourned, but for herself as well, and this added to his own pain for her.

She seemed so small, kneeling at the base of the stone monument, so frail, though he knew she possessed skill and bravery to equal any other elven warrior. Still, the sight of her as she was, made him long to take her into his arms, to give her his reassurance and protection.

With tentative steps, he began to approach her, hesitant to interrupt her reverie, but still wanting to comfort her, to give her a warm shoulder instead of cold stone to cry against. If that was what she wished.


	4. Chapter 3

**Lalaith Elerrina--Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 3**

**September 7, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 3

Lalaith could not tell how she sensed that he was there. There had been no sound, no change in the air about her, but somehow, she had felt a warmth, a welcome presence behind her, and she turned.

"Legolas." She murmured, hurriedly wiping the streaming tears from her cheeks, and rising quickly to her feet.

Her heartbeat quickened as her gaze greedily drank him in, as one would drink water after a long thirst. He wore the traditional garb of a Mirkwood Elf, tunic and leggings of green and brown, soft leaf etched boots to his knees, fashioned for walking lightly, and in silence. As always, the hair was pulled back from his high forehead in two thin braids just above his ears, with another trailing down the back of his head. The golden hair he left hanging freely, spilled lightly over his shoulders and onto his chest, which rose and fell softly, as if with reserved emotion. His eyes were keen and blue, and bore into her own with quiet intensity.

"Forgive me, mellon nin." She whispered. "I must be a terrible sight."

Legolas smiled softly, and drew closer until there were mere inches between them. A hand came up, and cupped her cheek, his thumb softly brushing the remaining tears away. "No, for you are always beautiful, Lalaith." His words were no more than a whisper of air from his lips, but they had the power to stir her heart, igniting emotions which she both welcomed and feared.

She lowered her eyes shyly, and was relieved, but also disappointed when Legolas drew in a breath, and stepped back.

She looked up, and he smiled, his eyes studying hers as he spoke. "I am the one who should ask your forgiveness. I should have been with my parents to greet you and your cousins when you arrived. But I wanted to wait for the coming of the night to give you this." He held out his hand, and Lalaith saw for the first time, that he held a flower. She knew it well, though such flowers were known to be rare. In the soft green of daylight in Mirkwood, its petals were white, growing to a soft pink near the center. But under the light of the moon and stars, the flower, not merely the petals, but the stem and leaves as well, glowed a mithril like silver.

"Oh, Legolas." She breathed, glancing from the flower to his shining eyes. His face, youthful and innocent, yet bearing the wisdom of millennia, waited in pained expectancy. "Thank you." Slowly, she reached out, and took the flower into her own hands, shivering as warmth trailed along her skin from the point where his hand touched hers. "It is lovely." She reached up, and with trembling fingers, tucked the flower into her hair.

Legolas drew in a deep breath as he watched her motions, her slender, flawless hand deftly sliding the stem of the flower into the hair just above the point of her delicate ear. The radiance emitted from the flower seemed to lend her fair face a soft glow, and his heart gave a fierce throb as she offered him a trembling smile, her shining eyes lifted to his. It took all of his restraint in that moment, to keep himself from drawing her into his arms then, and confessing all that he bore for her in his heart. Instead, he stood back, drawing in and releasing another long sigh, and offered her his hand. "Will you come with me? There is something I have been hoping to show you."

Biting her trembling lip, she nodded wordlessly, and slipped her smaller hand into his own. So many countless times throughout her life, she had given him her hand when they walked together. But now, as his warm, lean fingers wove through hers, she knew, looking up into the deepening gentleness of his eyes, that this was different. For him, as it was for herself.

He guided her silently through the trees, back the way they had come, but before they came to the softened glow of lamps lighting the Elves' woodland city, the path split, and he turned down a less used trail. One that Lalaith would have overlooked, had Legolas not been leading her. This path was narrow, and seemed to wind downward as Lalaith followed behind him, wondering, helplessly, why simply gazing at the back of his head, the way his braids trailed through his freely hanging hair, would enrapture her so.

The trail at last leveled off, the trees surrounding them thicker than any others. Even with her elven eyes, it was difficult to see the path ahead. Legolas paused here a moment, and turned to look at her, smiling mischievously, almost like a little boy.

"Lalaith, close your eyes." He whispered excitedly. "I have a surprise for you."

She furrowed her brow and frowned at him, loving his playful grin.

"Please. Trust me." He pleaded.

"Very well." She conceded, and closed her eyelids as he bid her. She felt him take both of her hands into his own, and tentatively followed as he slowly guided her along the path, faithfully keeping her eyes closed, even as she detected a strange glow against her eyelids.

"When can I open them?" She murmured.

"Not yet." He whispered eagerly, gently squeezing her hands with excitement.

She sensed the trail opening up about them, and realized from the change in the air and sound, that they were in a clearing. There seemed to be no one else near, but the glow seemed brighter now, as if they were surrounded by hundreds of lamps. Still, Legolas continued to lead her forward. She was walking over a carpet of something now, thickly covering the floor of the forest that whispered as her feet brushed past. Grass, perhaps, she guessed.

"Now?"

"Almost."

At last Legolas stopped, dropped his hands, and stepped back. "Very well." He said. "Now."

Lalaith opened her eyes. Her gasp was instantaneous. Never before had she imagined such a lovely place as this, though she had been to the Mirkwood countless times in her life. She stood in the center of a sheltered glade, the tall trees surrounding her on all sides forming a near perfect circle of sky above her head. And all about her, causing a soft gray glow to reflect off everything their light touched, was a seemless carpet of silver, glowing flowers.

"Oh-," she breathed, unable to say more.

"Do you like it?" He asked hopefully, his eyes shining as he came to her, and once again took her hands into his own.

"Oh, Legolas." She murmured, at last finding her voice. "Never before in my life have I seen anything as beautiful. It, it is-,"

Her voice trailed away as Legolas drew ever close. Lalaith dropped her eyes shyly, afraid to look up at him, though she wanted to. The air between them quivered with unspoken emotion. A hand came up and Lalaith shivered warmly as his fingers gently caressed her cheek, and stroked her hair, as softly as the brush of a bird's wing. "This is nothing more than a token, compared to you. For never, in all the centuries of my life, have I seen anyone as beautiful as you, Lalaith."

She shivered and dared to look up into his eyes now, which glowed with devotion. Almost of its own volition, her own hand came up, and touched his smooth face. She shivered deliciously at the warmth of his flesh against her palm and fingers, and the subtle movement of his jaw beneath his skin. Legolas closed his eyes, and leaned into her touch as her thumb brushed slowly over his lips, supple and warm.

"Lalaith," he whispered, turning back to her, and opening his eyes.

Lalaith trembled at what she saw in his shining eyes, love, unlike any she had seen before, and longing, tender and pleading. And though she knew she was not worthy of such devotion from this wonderful, faultless prince, she could not stop herself as she leaned into him, resting her hands against his chest, aware of the movement of his breath beneath the soft cloth against her fingers as his arms slowly encircled her waist, gently pulling her close.

Her heart fluttered as she tilted her face toward his, and closed her eyes. She felt his warm breath against her face, and a moment later, his warm mouth gently covered hers, causing a rush of heat to surge through her blood. As his lips tenderly plied hers, her mouth softened, becoming more yielding, and for the first time, she tasted the intensity of his emotions. She began to answer his implorations with a warmth all her own, never wanting to leave this magical glade, or the shelter of his embrace.

After what seemed ages, Legolas' mouth released hers, and he buried his face in her hair to whisper, "_Im melin le_, Laliath Elerrina. I have lost my heart to you."

She shuddered, and her eyes shot open, suddenly remembering herself.

"My parents adore you, beloved, and I know if I but speak to Elrond, he will give us his blessing-,"

"Wait." She gasped, pushing backward, stepping suddenly away from him.

"What is it?" He whispered, his face questioning her.

"I- I cannot."

"Lalaith-," Legolas stepped toward her, concern furrowing his brow.

"No, please." She blurted, taking a step back to increase the distance between them.

"Have I frightened you?" He asked gently, remaining now where he stood. "Forgive me. I have no wish to cause you to fear me."

"No." She shook her head, feeling tears spill from her eyes as she did. "It is not you I fear-,"

"What is it you fear, beloved?"

"No." She blurted. "Do not call me that. I am unworthy."

"What?" He inquired, his face a mask of confusion.

"You are the Prince of Mirkwood!" She cried, hearing the sudden agony in her voice. "Do you even know who I am?"

"You are Lalaith Elerrina, fairest lady of Imladris." Legolas answered immediately, confidently, and finished in a softer tone, "Fairest maiden to ever shine her grace upon the lands of Middle-earth."

"No." She shook her head. "You do not know who I am, as you think you do. _I_ do not know. I am not Elrond's daughter, nor even his kinswoman! I am no one's daughter. We could never wed. I am unworthy of you."

"I do not care who your parents were." Legolas shot back, his voice almost angry. "You could be the daughter of the poorest commoner, and my feelings would remain. You are kind, and good, and brave. It is _you_ I love!"

"You cannot love me! You are the son of a king!" She sobbed. "I am nothing! I am no one!" She turned away, and started back the way she had come, when Legolas' voice stopped her.

"Lalaith, do not leave me." His voice was begging, heavy with grief.

She stopped, and turned. The agony on his face tore her heart.

"Please." He whispered.

"Forget that you even loved me as you say you do." She murmured, her head hanging heavily. "Forget that you brought me here, that you-, that you ever kissed me."

"I would try to forget my own name for your sake, if I knew that somehow it would bring you peace." Legolas answered, his voice choking. "But I will forget nothing that passed between us here unless you can look into my eyes, and tell me that you have not also grown to love me in the way that I have grown to love you."

Lalaith raised her head, and gazed into his beautiful, tortured face for a long moment. She had never lied to him before in her life, and though, for his sake, she wished she could now, she could not.

"Farewell, sweet prince." She whispered, then turned and walked away.

* * *

"Oh, Lalaith." Elrond said, his brow furrowed, his soul aching for the poor maiden who clung tightly to his shoulder now, sobbing.

"He hates me. He hates me now." Lalaith choked between sobs.

"No, no Lalaith." Elrond took her by the shoulders, and pushed her back to gaze into her swollen, reddened eyes. "He cannot hate you. You are too good."

"I am evil." She shook her head. "I am worse than Sauron, or that vile ring. I have-," her voice trembled, "I have broken his heart."

"And you are pained, because you return his love." Murmured Elrond.

Lalaith looked startled. "But I never said-,"

"Ah, but you do." Elrond smiled. "Your grief is more than that of a friend mourning for a friend's pain. You love him as well. You wanted to pledge your troth to him that night, your promise to wed him, but your feelings of unworthiness stopped you." Elrond furrowed his brow, and gazed into her eyes until she glanced down. "Am I speaking the truth?"

Lalaith drew in a long, shaking breath, and exhaled it slowly before she pulled away from him, and stood. "I have selfishly taken too much of your time, Uncle Elrond." She murmured, straightening herself primly, and turning to take up her silver tray. "And I have duties to see to." With that, she turned and strode down the hall, her skirts flowing about her, the image of maidenly reserve.

Elrond watched her until she disappeared around a corner, aching for her, for Legolas, and for the pain they both shared, and sat where he was for long moments, thoughts of the One Ring pushed, for a time, from his mind.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Good morning, Lady Lalaith!" A voice in the common tongue, gravelly with age caused her to lift her head from the book she was reading, to see Bilbo Baggins coming toward her, leaning heavily on a walking stick. His wavy silver hair surrounded his head like a halo, and his kind, honest smile warmed her heart. "You are looking radiantly beautiful, as always." The aged hobbit cheerfully said, as he stepped up onto the bench beside her with a grunt, his unshod feet hanging several inches off of the stone tiles beneath them.

"Good morning to you, Master Baggins. It is a pleasure to be so well met." Lalaith smiled, brushing a stray lock of golden hair back behind her pointed ear, and breathing in the scent of morning. A rain had passed in the night, leaving the air cool and fresh with a soft breeze wafting about her, catching at her long hair, and the folds of the gown she wore, dark blue, the color of the evening sky, after sunset. The smooth cloth clung softly to her shoulders with the neck scooped, and the sleeves were long, tapering tightly to her wrists. The cloth was tight about her waist, accentuating her lithe form, and the skirt was full around her legs. It was a dress, she thought with a heavy heart, that Legolas would have found especially attractive on her. But remembering Bilbo, she smiled through her sobering thoughts for the aged hobbit's sake. "Have you had your breakfast yet?"

"Ah, yes." Bilbo sighed, swinging his feet. "Sam fried up some sausages and tomatoes for me." He closed his eyes and sighed as with a well loved memory. "Oh, it was heavenly to eat hobbit food again."

Lalaith smiled, glad for him that he could find such happiness in the simplest of things. He opened his eyes and turned his attention on the book in her lap. "Oh." He said, in pleasant surprise. "You're reading _my_ book."

"Do you mind?" Lalaith asked, smoothing a hand reverently over the page. "I think it's lovely. I found it here, and I could not put it down. I've never really known much about your race."

"What do you think?" Bilbo asked, his face shining.

"Of hobbits?"

Bilbo nodded.

"I think you're charming."

Bilbo chuckled.

"And witty, and sweet." She smiled. "But I have gathered this from watching you and the younger hobbits, especially Pip and Merry, as well as from reading your book."

"Ah, you're a dear girl." Bilbo sighed, and patted her hand.

Lalaith smiled at him, and squeezed his hand before she stood, set the book down beside Bilbo, and walked away, not caring where she was going, only wanting to be alone in her thoughts. She could still feel Legolas' arms around her, could still taste his kiss, stirring her emotions and desires as powerfully as if she were there in Mirkwood again, in the shelter of his arms. How she longed to be with him, to be resting safely in his embrace, reveling in the adoring gaze of his blindingly blue eyes. If she had not rejected him, and left him standing there alone, they would be betrothed now. The thought made her shudder with grief. Everyone who cared about her wanted their union. Her Uncle Elrond, her cousins, the queen and king of Mirkwood. And above all that, she _loved_ him! With all of her soul she loved him. And he loved her. Or once had, she reminded herself, flinching. Why had she refused him? She had been unsure of who she was, all her life, yes, but was it that? Something deep within her, something that lay dormant in forgotten memories whispered that it couldn't be all. If so she would not have had the power to leave the safety of his warm embrace, to walk away alone, and break his heart, as well as her own, especially after he had vowed that it was her he loved, and that nothing else mattered to him.

As she walked alone in her unhappy thoughts, she became unaware of how cold the air seemed to be growing, until something cold, almost tangible, brushed her skin.

_Snaga._

The word hissed at her, as if out of the air, nothing more than a mocking whisper. A cold fear gripped her, unlike any fear she had ever experienced, even in the battle with the orcs on the borders of Loth Lorien. She glanced around wildly, looking for the source of the sound. It was close, almost in front of her, just around the bend of the path.

_Ash nazg durbatuluk._ The voice continued, mocking, unrelenting. It was the black speech of Mordor, Lalaith suddenly realized, and crushed her eyes closed as the voice continued tormenting her in a hissing, relentless whisper.

_Ash nazg gimbatul_. Where was it coming from? How could she stop it? A pounding began in her head, and she wavered on her feet, pressing a hand to her forehead in a vain attempt to stop the pain.

"Lady Lalaith, are you all right?" Lalaith lifted her head to see Frodo standing before her, his eyes studying hers with concern. Without her noticing, he had just come around the corner of the path. With him before her, the voice seemed louder than before.

_Ash nazg thakatuluk_

"Do you not hear that?" She pleaded.

"I'm sorry, hear what?"

_Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._

Her eyes dropped to the front of his shirt, the first few buttons of which, lay casually open, as if he had only recently woken and dressed. And then she saw it, on a chain around his neck, against his skin, laying there shining and golden, flawless in its form, seemingly as innocent as a child.

_"You are no free elf."_ The hissing, black-sounding voice came from the ring, speaking as clearly as if it had its own voice.

"Get it away from me!" She cried. "Get it away!"

_"You are snaga of Mordor-,"_

Frodo's expression grew fearful, and he clapped his hand over the ring. The voice instantly cut off.

"Frodo." She gasped, relief flooding over her with the cessation of the sinister voice. "The ring." She drew in a shaking breath. "I heard it. It was _speaking_."

"Oh." Frodo nodded, breathing easier. "I understand now. I've heard it, too."

"How can you endure it?" She gasped. "I thought it was near to killing me. I could barely stand! It made the very air as cold as ice."

Frodo gaped at her, and clutched the front of his shirt even tighter.

Lalaith shook herself. She was distressing him, and he was a guest here in Imladris.

"Frodo, I am so very sorry." She sighed finally, feeling the shame of her unseemly actions. "I have been terribly ungracious. I did not mean to frighten you."

"It was hardly your fault." Frodo offered understandingly. His hand relaxed a little, but still he kept it squarely over his heart, blocking the ring from her sight. "I've just never seen anyone as terrified of the ring."

"If you would be kind enough," she conceded, "I would be in your debt if you kept it concealed from me. I think that would-, help."

"Of course." Frodo said, and quickly pulling the chain from his neck, slipped the ring into the pocket of his hobbit trousers. With Frodo's hand withdrew, Lalaith flinched, wondering if the voice of the black speech would continue, but it did not, and she slowly relaxed.

"How-, how is your shoulder?" She managed at last as they continued in the direction Frodo had been walking.

"Still sore, but better." Frodo smiled as he fastened the buttons of his collar. He seemed to have gotten over his alarm, and Lalaith at last returned his smile.

Bright cheerful sounds of words spoken in the common tongue drew her attention, and she glanced ahead where the path ended. Sam, and the other two hobbits were together on a pillared terrace where the path opened up. Merry and Pip were slapping a small stone back and forth to each other through the air, apparently a little hobbit game, Lalaith guessed, while Sam bent over a pack set at the foot of a stone bench, loading it with his belongings.

Pip glanced over and saw the two standing together, and grinned brightly. "Hullo, Lady Lalaith! Look! Look what I can do!" He slapped at the stone as it came back from Merry, flipping it up into the air, higher than he expected, and it went hurtling over the edge of the terrace, disappearing below.

"Ow!"

A hand flew to Lalaith's mouth. The voice was her cousin's, Elrohir's, and did not sound pleasant.

Pip and Merry glanced over the edge.

"Oh, hullo!" Pip called out cheerfully to someone below them, and waved.

"So sorry!" Merry added.

"_ Pherian thaur_!" Elrohir cursed below. "Come down here!"

"Uh, `bye Lady Lalaith." Pip spouted and gave her a quick bow as he and Merry sprinted off down the terrace walkway.

"What's going to happen to them now?" Frodo asked sympathetically.

"I don't think he'll hurt them." Lalaith said, then added, "very much."

Frodo chuckled, and Lalaith smiled.

"I'm going to go see to Sam." Frodo said, his voice concerned again, but now with a different focus as he watched his friend packing.

"And I-," Lalaith paused. "I must go find my uncle, or Gandalf."

Frodo gave her a half smile, and bowed politely before he headed in Sam's direction while Lalaith turned the other way, making her way to her uncle's study, hoping to find him there. She scurried up a circular set of steps, and strode down a long walkway with purposeful strides before the sound of two voices slowed her.

Gandalf and her uncle were both indeed in his study. She could hear their voices easily as she approached. Many of the rooms of her uncle's house were open to the air, having few walls, and most often, no doors. She had but to round the corner of the terrace, and she would see them both. They were not aware of her yet, she could tell, as their conversation did not wane.

"Gandalf, Sauron's forces are massing in the east." Elrond was saying, his voice tense. "His eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman, you tell me, has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin."

Lalaith gnawed her lip, and stopped, not wishing to interrupt. What they were speaking of was of greater importance than the question she wished to pose to them.

"His treachery runs deeper than you know." Answered the deeper voice of Gandalf. "The foul craft of Saruman has crossed orcs with goblin-men. He's breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. An army that can move in sunlight, and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the ring."

Lalaith shuddered. Her memory of orcs, even two hundred years old, was still frightening. That they could be coming here, to Imladris, was unthinkable.

"This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the elves." Elrond's voice hissed. "We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard."

For a moment, there was silence, then Gandalf came with his shuffling stride Lalaith was so familiar with, onto the veranda. He leaned out over the railing, gazing at the courtyard below. He had but to turn, and he would see her.

"Gandalf." Her uncle's stern voice came from inside. "The ring cannot stay here."

For a time, there was silence as Gandalf looked down on a scene she could not see. Lalaith thought she could hear the whinny of horses down below her, strange horses, not of Imladris, beneath the arched stone gate. And almost in the same instant, more of them, farther north, as if they with their riders had just come through the wooded northern gate, and among them, was-,

_Rana_? Lalaith knew that whinny, she was certain. But what would Rana be doing here?

"This peril belongs to all middle earth. They must decide now how to end it." Elrond continued at last. "The time of the Elves is over. My people are leaving these shores. Who will you look to when we've gone? The dwarves?" Lalaith detected a sarcastic tone in her uncle's voice as he spoke. "They hide in their mountains seeking riches. They care nothing for the troubles of others."

Gandalf turned, and Lalaith half expected him to see her out of the corner of his eye, but he did not. "It is in men that we must place our hope." He said in a tired voice.

"Men." Her uncle said in consternation. "Men are weak." Elrond's voice grew father away as he moved away from Gandalf. Gandalf followed him, leaving the balcony.

"The race of men is failing." Elrond continued from deeper within the room. "The blood of Númenor is all but spent. Its pride and dignity forgotten. It is because of men the ring survives." Elrond's voice grew quiet. So quiet, that Lalaith moved around the corner to hear him. Her uncle stood with his back to her, Gandalf between him and Lalaith, listening, as she was, in silence.

"I was there, Gandalf." Elrond continued. "I was there, three thousand years ago when Isildur took the ring. I was there the day the strength of men failed."

Lalaith could tell that her uncle was struggling with his memories of that day, of which he spoke little to his children. But she knew enough from others of what had taken place. "I led Isildur into the heart of Mount Doom where the ring was forged. The one place it could be destroyed. It should have ended that day but evil was allowed to endure. Isildur kept the ring."

Elrond turned, but his eyes were so focused on Gandalf, that he did not notice Lalaith yet. "The line of kings is broken. There is no strength left in the world of men. They are scattered, divided, leaderless."

"There is one who could unite them." Gandalf said quietly.

_Cousin Aragorn_. Lalaith thought, nodding to herself. He could, if he chose to.

Elrond's jaw worked over that thought before he spoke with finality. "He turned from that path a long time ago."

Lalaith swallowed, and glanced down, forgetting now, why she had come to find her uncle.

"Lalaith!" Elrond's surprised voice caused her to lift her head. He had noticed her at last. His face, which had been a mask of staid concentration moments before, lighted into a smile.

"Ah, Lalaith Elerrina." Gandalf said turning, seeming to be grateful to find something brighter to focus on. "_Mir o Imladris_." He shuffled forward, and took both of her hands in his in greeting.

"_Mithrandir_." She greeted, smiling at his complement. "I have not had the good fortune of being able to speak with you since your coming."

"Ah, but that has been _my_ misfortune." He returned with a kindly wink.

"So, now." Elrond smiled, coming forward. "For what reason have we the pleasure of your company, Lalaith?"

Lalaith's smile waned. "I have a question. For both of you. It concerns the One Ring."

"Oh?" Her uncle asked, coming closer. He and Gandalf traded a sober glance.

"I heard it speaking."

Gandalf began to nod knowingly, before Lalaith again cut in, "For a time it used words I could not understand, frightening words. And then it spoke directly to me. In words I could understand, for a moment, and then it called me something. The word it uttered was in, I am certain, the Black Speech. I do not know what it meant."

Gandalf and Elrond once again traded a glance.

"What was the word?" Gandalf asked at last, his voice quiet.

Lalaith gulped, then whispered, "_Snaga_. Of Mordor."

Elrond drew in a sharp breath, and his mouth tightened into a hard, angry line. Gandalf pursed his lips, and looked thoughtful.

"Any word spoken in the Black Speech of Mordor, anything uttered from that vile tool of Sauron's is a _lie_." Elrond insisted angrily, spinning away and stalking to a desk, strewn with books and papers where he leaned heavily over onto his fists.

"But what does it mean?" Lalaith asked, alarmed, her eyes flashing to Gandalf's.

"It means slave." Gandalf answered gently. "It called you a slave of Mordor."

"As I said." Elrond fairly shouted, spinning around, and marching back to them. "It is a _lie_. She is not a slave of Mordor. She is-," Elrond gestured to her almost angrily, seeming to be near tears. "she is my charge, my _child_! Not a mindless slave of Sauron! As I said, and say again, Gandalf, the ring _cannot_ stay here, more so now, when it dares to speak thus of my own children."

Elrond had taken on the livid appearance of an animal defending its young, and Lalaith was uncertain whether she should be shocked, or touched.

"You are right." Gandalf agreed with a slow nod. "She is no slave. The ring did indeed lie."

Gandalf's voice seemed to bring reason back, and Elrond grew visibly calmer, and an apologetic expression grew across his face as he looked in Lalaith's concerned eyes.

"Another question, Uncle." She added quickly. "When I stood out on the veranda, I thought I heard horses down below. Strange horses, not our own."

Gandalf nodded, and answered her question. "There are Men here. Men of the South, of Gondor, and Elves of Mirkwood, just arrived. I saw them from the porch, coming through different gates, almost in the same instant.

"Of _Mirkwood_?" Lalaith repeated in a gasp, looking to Elrond with a pleading expression on her face. "Uncle, why did you not _tell_ me? For what purpose are they here?"

Elrond drew in a breath slowly. "I did not want to distress you, Lalaith. I summoned them here to counsel concerning the One Ring."

"But Legolas-," She turned to Gandalf. "Legolas Thranduilion. Was he among them?" She knew the answer, she had heard Rana's whinny, but needed to ask the question.

"The Prince of Mirkwood was the first through the gate." Gandalf said, glancing at Elrond with a question in his eyes. "In fact, he leaped off the back of his horse, rather quickly, and looked up toward the house, as if he were hoping to see something-," Gandalf's gaze traveled from Elrond to Lalaith and back again while an amused sparkle began to light his eyes. "Or someone."

"And?" She pleaded. "What was his appearance? Was he-," she hesitated, "angry, or-,"

"Well, no, rather anxious, I think, and-," Gandalf smirked beneath his beard. "Hopeful."

"Oh." Lalaith breathed, her heart pounding, and glanced down, twisting her ring around on her finger. She glanced up at her uncle to see the pained sympathy in his features. "After what I did, what could I possibly say to him?"

Elrond sighed, but before he could speak, a youthful, masculine voice came at them from around the corner, unexpectedly close. "Lord Elrond?"

Lalaith drew in a sharp breath. He sounded as if he were fairly running, and coming closer.

"Welcome to Imladris, Legolas Thranduilion." Elrond called out, casting a last, sympathetic glance at Lalaith before the Prince of Mirkwood appeared.

"Lord Elrond, forgive my unwarranted intrusion." Legolas implored, striding around the corner, and drawing to a stop. He was breathing hard as if he had been running. He had not even taken off his riding cloak yet. "But I am looking for the lady, Lalaith. Aragorn said you would know-,"

His eyes found hers, and his words cut off.

"Welcome, Legolas." She said quietly, clasping her hands in front of her to hide their trembling.

"Lalaith." He said simply, his eyes searching hers intently. "I had hoped to see you. There are things I have been wanting to speak of with you." He glanced at Gandalf and Elrond, then back at her. "Will you come walk with me?"

She glanced over at Elrond who gave her a terse smile, and a nod of encouragement.

"Yes." She said with a nod, hoping that her demeanor was calm, though her nerves felt ragged.

Her heart was beating so rapidly within her, that she was certain he could hear it as she matched Legolas' step out of her uncle's study.

They walked in silence the length of the veranda, a near arm's length apart, and her mind was racing as to what thoughts could be going on in his mind. Surely he was angry with her. He had the right. Perhaps, to spite her for the pain she had caused him, he had even found another maiden to fill his heart in her absence. The thought filled her with agony, but again, it would not be unjustified, after what she had so cruelly done to him.

"Lalaith," he said at last, his voice reaching out to her, suddenly plaintive, making her heart wrench, "I am not used to walking this way with you. Can I be permitted to hold your hand?"

She stopped and turned toward him, her heart catching on a beat. Her eyes filled with questions, lifted to his, feeling hope as it seed of it took root inside of her.

"Being without you these past months, and now seeing you again has been a salve on my heart." Legolas continued, his eyes filled with as much pleading as his voice. "I beg of you, do not grudge me this one favor."

"Of course, Legolas." She breathed, reaching out her hand, and slipping it into his own, as comfortable now within his grasp as it had always been. They began walking again, Lalaith walking slightly ahead with Legolas willingly following her lead. They slowly descended circular steps into the garden, and Lalaith chose a secluded path through high, arching trees where nothing but the whisper of the wind in the leaves, and the distant calls of birds followed them.

"Are you not angry?" She ventured as they walked. "I thought you would be. You have the right." She could feel tears pushing into her eyes now, and glanced shamefully away.

Legolas once again drew her to a stop, and turned to her, his hand clasping hers. He looked down at the small hand resting in his own, and ran his fingers slowly over her soft, smooth knuckles. "I was." He admitted. "For days, weeks, I could not understand why you would do what you did, allowing me to kiss you, to kiss me back the way you did, to cause me to want you so much, and then telling me that you were not worthy of me, telling me to forget my love for you, and walking away as if I had never meant anything at all to you. Did you truly think that by telling me to stop loving you, that I would?"

His voice, filled with pain and pleading, did more to cause her to feel the heaviness of remorse than had he been angry, and railing at her. Lalaith crushed her eyelids shut, feeling the tears coming harder now.

"It hurt." Legolas admitted, his voice fighting emotion. "Like nothing ever has in my life."

"At least you did not cry like a child, as I did." She sighed brokenly as a tear drop fell, splashing against their joined hands.

"Not when you were looking." He murmured softly, gently caressing the softness of her hand.

"And yet you are here, standing before me, still loving me as if I had never wronged you, as if I had never caused you such pain?" Lalaith asked in disbelief.

"Yes." Legolas said with sudden conviction, catching her free hand, so that he held both of her own. "Because I realized something."

Lalaith lifted her eyes, and blinked through her tears to look at him.

"You did not leave because you do not love me in return. You never said you did not. Do you remember?"

Lalaith nodded, unable to speak.

"You left because there is something you fear. Something you do not wish to burden me with, and thus it has caused these unsettling feelings of unworthiness in you. You do not even know what it is you fear, but it is real. It is not of you, nor is it your fault. But it is real, and it is-," Legolas released a deep breath. "It is evil."

Lalaith's mind flashed back to the words she had heard emitting from the ring. "But how would you know all of this?" She whispered. "I do not even understand it myself. I am only beginning to comprehend-,"

"I remember when you were an infant." Legolas blurted urgently. "That night when the mortal woman brought you to me. The five orcs that were after you."

Lalaith nodded quickly searching his eyes, wondering at the earnestness in them.

"Have you never wondered why _five_ mounted orcs would be pursuing _one_ woman with a mere infant so close to Elven lands, and so far away from Mordor? Had it been any other child, they would have given up the chase long before they came to the Mirkwood."

"What is it you are saying, Legolas?"

"There is something about you that causes evil to fear you." Legolas explained. "Sauron, for reasons I do not know, sent his orcs to kill you. They would surely have succeeded, but for that mortal woman who intervened." Legolas' eyes were intense. "You may not remember what happened, not on the surface of your mind, but deep within your memory, you do remember, and that is why you are so afraid of whatever nameless evil sought to kill you as an infant. And you do not want to bring others to the same harm. That is why you felt unworthy. That is why you were reluctant to give your love to me."

Lalaith glanced away, her eyes searching the ground, thinking over the words Legolas had spoken. Her mouth worked silently, unable to make words come out. Though she did not understand how, she knew Legolas was right.

"Earlier today, I saw the One Ring." She finally managed quietly. "It spoke." Legolas' hands tightened around hers. "It spoke directly to me. It told me I was a-, a slave of Mordor."

"You are no slave. You are a free elf." Legolas' voice was gentle, yet intense.

"So Uncle Elrond said." She agreed, then smiled and finished, "Rather emphatically."

"He is protective of you, is he not?" Legolas chuckled.

Lalaith's smile grew, her heart brightening to see him light hearted once again.

Legolas noted her smile, and his eyes grew shiny with wetness as a hand came up and cupped her face. "Understand this, Lalaith Elerrina." He said, his own smile growing serious once again. "Whatever it is you fear, I vow to you that it will not hurt you again. If I must, I will stand between you and the thing you fear, and defend you from it, even if it be the whole host of Mordor."

Lalaith's heart caught on a beat as she studied his eyes, captivatingly blue, their intense gaze fixed adoringly on her, and knew he meant all that he said. He would ride to the very gates of Mordor, to the very slopes of Mount Doom, if it was required of him to protect her.

"Then understand _this_, Legolas Thranduilion." She returned. "If that time comes, I will stand _beside_ you, and we will defend each other. For I will not let the warrior I have given my heart to, fight alone."

Legolas' brow furrowed as she said this, and as the last words came out of her mouth, his own opened slightly as if he wished to speak, and could think of nothing to say.

"I could not say this in Mirkwood, though I wanted to." Lalaith sighed, her eyes drooping as she spoke, "but now, with all that you have said, you have freed my heart, and I no longer fear to speak." She lifted her eyes shyly to his, as they gazed into her own with hope and expectancy. "_Im melin le, Legolas Thranduilion_." Her voice grew soft. "Prince of Mirkwood, and of my heart."

"_Im melin le, Lalaith Elerrina_." He returned, his words gentle, yet at the same time, impassioned. "I could love no other, but you. Tell me you will be my bride. That we will spend all the ages of this world together."

"Yes." She returned eagerly, pressing her gold banded sapphire ring, etched with the crest of Elrond's house, into the palm of his hand. His fist tightened around it. "I will gladly bind myself to you, for all of eternity." She smiled blissfully up into his eyes, and drew a step back from him.

"Come." She implored. "Let us go speak to my uncle." She turned to lead him back to the house, but he did not move to follow after her. His hand caught hers, and he pulled her back to him, catching her firmly against his chest.

"Not yet." He murmured with a mischievous smirk.

Lalaith smiled, knowing what he wanted, and drew close, slipping her arms up around his neck, feeling the silken gold of his hair between her fingers. Her eyes closed as his face lowered to hers, and when their lips met, she kissed him joyfully, with no hesitation or reluctance. He sensed her willing response, and pulled her even closer, nearly lifting her off of her feet as he kissed her with more passion and longing than she had felt from him before, and leaving her breathless and exhilarated when he finally released her, and set her back on her feet.

"Now my beloved," he said, playfully kissing the tip of her nose. "_Now_ we can go speak to Lord Elrond."


	6. Chapter 5

**Lalaith Elerrina--Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 5**

**October 1, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 5

Lalaith sighed contentedly in her sleep, and turned over on her side, tucking her arm beneath her head, as her eyes slowly opened. From the moonlight streaming in through her open window, she could see that it was night, still many hours away from the coming of dawn. Then what had awakened her? She wondered sleepily.

Rubbing weariness from her eyes, she sat slowly up, pushing her coverlet down to her waist as she scanned the darkened interior of her room. When her eyes reached her high backed divan set against the wall, she smiled diffidently and softly bit her lower lip. There was her answer, sleeping with his arm tucked under his head, his legs curled so that he could fit onto the small space afforded him, his face as beautiful in the moonlight as that of a young god's.

He stirred again, and a whisper breathed again through his lips, "_Lalaith_." That was what had woken her.

"Legolas." She murmured to herself, and slowly rose from her bed, her bare feet making no sound as she picked up an extra coverlet, folded at the end of her bed, and quietly approached him, so as not to wake him. He slept fully dressed, except for his boots which he had removed, and set side by side on the floor beside him.

"This will keep you warm, beloved." She whispered to herself as she spread the covering over him, carefully tucking it about his firm shoulders, and making sure that it covered his bare feet.

Straightening, she touched his hair gently, and ran a finger slowly along the tiny braid just above his peaked ear, along the contour of his ear, then down the strong line of his jaw. Unable to resist, she smiled, and bent over him, softly brushing his warm, sweet lips with her own.

"I am counting the days until our wedding." She whispered against his mouth.

A hand came out from beneath the coverlet, and circled around her waist, pulling her closer. "As am I." Legolas murmured and opened his eyes.

Lalaith started in surprise, and blushed furiously. She wore nothing more than her nightgown, and there was only the blanket between herself and Legolas.

"Forgive me for waking you." She stammered. "I did not mean to."

"Do not worry." He smiled. "I only fell asleep in the last hour."

"You've been awake all night?" She asked, worried. "Are the beds in the guestrooms so terribly uncomfortable?"

"The beds are not to blame, but my own dreams." He smiled. "Which do not do you as much justice as the sight of you."

"You've been watching me sleep?" She asked with a light laugh. "It must have been terribly dull. I hope I did not snore."

"Oh, no." He shook his head. "Watching you sleeping is anything but dull. And you did not snore," he grinned, "though you did murmur my name a few times in your sleep."

Lalaith smirked. "But-," she glanced to her bedroom door. "How did you get in? Since I was little, and Elrohir and Elladan would sneak in and put frogs in my bed, I've always locked it."

"Lord Elrond has a master key."

"My _uncle_ let you in?" She gaped in surprise.

"He was as unable to sleep as I. He's been pacing the halls since sunset, thinking of the Counsel in the morning." Legolas explained, then added, "And he knows I do not have dishonorable intentions."

"Oh?" She asked pertly. "And what do you think he would say, were he to see us like this?"

Legolas furrowed his brow for a moment, then his eyes shot open in alarm. "Lalaith, forgive me!" He stammered, jerking his arm back, so that she could rise again to her feet. "I forgot myself."

"It is easy to forgive you, my love." She smiled, and bent over him, kissing him once again as her unbound hair cascaded over her shoulders, brushing his face. She smiled and caressed his jaw gently with her fingertips as she straightened. "Now go to sleep. You are needed at my uncle's Counsel tomorrow."

"Yes, my lady." He smiled in meek obedience, and settled his head back onto his arm, shifting comfortably beneath the covering Lalaith had spread over him.

"Lalaith." He murmured as she returned to her bed, and sat on the edge of it.

"Yes?" She asked, pulling up her feet, and pushing them beneath her warm coverlet. She pulled it up to her shoulders and leaned back against her pillow.

"I'm glad you kept it." He answered sleepily. "The flower I gave you."

She glanced at the table beside her bed and smiled. The silver flower he'd given her in Mirkwood was dried now, its leaves and petals crinkled as it rested in a silver cup Lalaith had placed it in. But here in the moonlight, its sheen was still as bright as the night Legolas had given it to her.

"I could never bear to part with it." She murmured. "_Im melin le_, Legolas."

"_Im melin le_, Lalaith."

She sighed and snuggled into her pillow, her eyes slowly closing as sweet dreams filled her mind.

* * *

"Lalaith? Lalaith, dear, wake up."

Lalaith opened sleepy eyes to see her cousin Arwen bending over her, and shaking her gently.

"Arwen? What is it?" She sat up, yawning and stretching, her glance going instinctively to her divan where Legolas had slept. He was no longer there, which did not surprise her. He would have to leave early to prepare for the counsel. The covering she had given him had been folded neatly, and set again at the end of her bed. She smiled softly, remembering vaguely now, the gentle touch of his hand against her sleeping face, and the soft press of his mouth against her brow in farewell when he had left in the early dawn.

"Father wishes for you to attend the Counsel." Arwen said, turning away, gliding to Lalaith's wardrobe, and opening it to examine its contents.

"What?" Lalaith gaped, cut off in the middle of a yawn. "But-, for what purpose?"

Arwen smirked and turned back to her. "Is it such a terrible chore to be in the presence of your beloved intended?"

"Well, yes!" Lalaith exclaimed, with a laugh. "When there is a gaggle of dwarves and humans looking on, and I cannot so much as touch him, it _is_ a chore!" Then she suddenly understood the last words Arwen had spoken, and complained, "Arwen, have you learned already? _I_ wanted to be the one to tell you!"

Arwen laughed lightly, and came back to her bed, settling on it, and catching up her younger cousin's hands. "You must forgive Father. He has surely told everyone by now. It is the one bright thing he has to focus on after all, with the burden of the One Ring being here." Arwen laughed again delightedly, and joyfully reached forward to embrace Lalaith. "How happy I am, for you!" She giggled girlishly and pulled back to look her in the eye again. "I must say, I had expected a betrothal in Mirkwood. But I knew that it would happen soon."

Lalaith returned her cousin's bright smile, remembering the agony she had felt after returning home from Mirkwood, thinking that she had lost Legolas forever. How wrong she had been!

"Prince Legolas has _always_ loved you. All your life he has loved you." Arwen laughed, her eyes filled with happy tears. "He will make you so happy." She laughed again. "You will make _each other_ happy." She smiled. "Father is so pleased." A sudden cloud covered her face, and she looked away, stood, and moved back to Lalaith's wardrobe. "I wish Father was as pleased with my choice."

Lalaith's own smile faded as well with that thought, and she stood, going up to stand behind her cousin. Arwen reached and took Lalaith's offered hand, then sighed, turning and looking into Lalaith's eyes with a troubled expression.

As long as Lalaith could remember, Arwen had been her protector, her teacher and guide, the older and wiser one who had taught her and led her through girlhood and maidenhood, always the stronger one, but now, she seemed suddenly so vulnerable, so small and sad.

Lalaith guessed her sudden despondency; it concerned Aragorn. Lalaith knew well of Arwen's desire to wed Aragorn, and of Aragorn's love for her. And because she loved them both, it grieved her, for if they married, Arwen would become a mortal like Luthien Tinuviel of old. Lalaith wanted their happiness, and it hurt her to see the inevitable pain that would come of their love.

"Oh, Arwen, _melonamin_." She sighed, not knowing what to say, and embraced her cousin who clung tightly to her for a moment, seeming to need a fellow maiden's comfort.

"How happy I am for you, to have found love within our own people." Arwen breathed, and then drawing in a quick sigh, planted a kiss against Lalaith's cheek, and stepped back, brushing a hand quickly under her own eyes. "Now, come." She smiled, rallying herself. "Father wants you at the Counsel because of your encounter with the One Ring yesterday. He needs your wisdom. There will be others there, Father is sure, who will not see the One Ring for what it is. You, however, know for yourself how evil it truly is."

"Yes, but I do not want to be anywhere near that _thing_." Lalaith protested, finally remembering the present. "It is horrible and vile. It frightens me."

Arwen nodded sympathetically. "Father understands that, but he will be there, and Mithrandir." She smiled slightly. "And Prince Legolas." She looked steadily into Lalaith's eyes. "Father does not think the One Ring's effect on you will be so difficult to bear with these others near you."

Lalaith pursed her lips, and nodded slowly. "If Uncle Elrond truly thinks I can help him, then I will try."

Arwen smiled, kissed her cheek again, and turned once again to her wardrobe. "Now." She smiled, tapping a finger against her lips thoughtfully. "Let us find something for you. Something regal, and noble, as Father will have foreign guests at this counsel. Yet feminine, also," she glanced at Lalaith, and her nose wrinkled playfully, "for the sake of Prince Legolas."

Lalaith smiled, returning Arwen's teasing glance, and moved up to stand beside her to begin sorting through her dresses.

* * *

Lalaith glided along the sheltered portico, her soft sandaled feet barely making a sound as she moved over the stone tiles. The silver dress she wore, woven throughout with threads of mithril that caught and sparkled in the light, rustled about her legs as she walked. She wore a woven belt of the same material, bound loosely about her slender hips, the free ends hanging long down the front of her skirt. Her sleeves hung delicately from her small shoulders, draping down in swathes of sparkling cloth to her elbows, whispering with every movement of her arms. Her forearms and hands were bare, even of the sapphire ring she had grown used to wearing on the longest finger of her right hand over the last five hundred years. Though her finger felt bereft without it, she was not unhappy with its absence, for she knew that the one who now wore it, cherished it well.

Her hair had been brushed back from her smooth, fair forehead, two twisted plaits, woven through with threaded jewels, joined at the back of her head, forming a single, sparkling twist of hair that hung long, resting against her hair that Arwen had left unbound, hanging freely down her back.

She had tried to return the favor to Arwen, but her older cousin had insisted that she go, once she was adorned for the Counsel, and had shooed her out her door. She worried for Arwen, for while her cousin smiled and spoke lightly of trivial things as she helped Lalaith dressed and prepared for Lord Elrond's Counsel, Lalaith had remembered her earlier unhappiness, and it reminded her of her own, before her reunion with Legolas, when she had smiled and had been brave for others' sakes, but had felt empty inside.

Her mind was so focused on Arwen's trouble, that at first she did not hear the footsteps coming from behind, though when she became aware of them, she knew instantly that they belonged to a human, for the loud tromping coming toward her, could belong to none but one of the race of Men, compared to the soft, almost inaudible tred of Elven feet she was accustomed to.

"Hold!" A voice in the common tongue called from behind her. "Hold for a moment, maid of Rivendell."

She stopped and turned, startled slightly. "Hail, Man of Gondor." She said politely.

The man approaching her, tall, bearded, clad in the usual garb of a nobleman of Gondor, suddenly stopped, several paces from her, as if startled himself, and a look of surprise came over his countenance as he studied her face. "Forgive me, my Lady." He said, his voice now taking on a more respectful tone as he bowed politely to her. "I did not know your identity at first. But looking upon your face now, I can guess that you are one of the two daughters of Elrond, Half-Elven, Elf maidens renown even in Gondor, for their great beauty. You are-," he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, "Lalaith Elerrina, I would guess. The maiden with the crown of stars in her hair."

"You have guessed rightly, Sir." She said with a nod, choosing not to correct the man on her relation to her uncle. "But you have the advantage of me. Your name, I do not know, nor could I ever hope to guess."

"Forgive me." He said with a smile of slight consternation. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor."

"Ah, yes." She said with a nod. "Tell me then, Sir-,"

"You may call me Boromir." He interrupted.

"How may I assist you?" She finished.

"As you have surely guessed, your father summoned me and my companions here for the Counsel of the One Ring. I am on my way to his Counsel now, and-," he paused, and Lalaith fought the urge to smile. She knew well of the pride of the race of Men. He did not want to admit to her that he had become lost.

"Then we are fortunately met, Lord Boromir. For Lord Elrond wishes for me to attend the Counsel as well. It would be an honor if you would allow me to show you the way."

"That would be _my_ honor." Boromir's voice took on a tone of suppressed relief as she began to walk, him following a half step behind her. "For you must be a maid of extraordinary wisdom to be asked to attend such an important counsel as this."

Lalaith smiled and nodded her thanks, choosing not to respond verbally to his complement as she turned to descend a long row of stone steps, with Boromir following behind.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, she turned her steps toward the terrace where the Counsel would be held. They were passing several massive pillars now, festooned with the natural growth of vines and flowers, and she vaguely sensed that Boromir paused momentarily before hurrying to match her pace again.

"Wait a moment, my Lady."

Lalaith slowed to a stop, and turned to him, wondering again, what it was he wanted of her, when she had to stifle her need to gape. He was smiling hopefully, holding out a slender pink blossom for her.

"Consider this but a token of my appreciation for your great beauty. For I have never seen the likes of you in all my days." He said with a slight bow.

Not knowing what else to do, she took the flower from his hand with a polite nod. "I thank you, Lord Boromir." She said, fighting a smile. "But while such flattery may beguile a human maid, the favor of an elven maid is not so easily won."

"Oh, but is it flattery when the words spoken are the truth?" Boromir answered easily.

"Perhaps it may be taken as such, when the elf maid in question has already pledged her love and her troth to another, and is not free to accept the favors of other men."

"And as your intended would certainly agree," Boromir deftly returned, "the giving of your pledge to him has not detracted from your beauty in the least degree."

At this, Lalaith could think of nothing to say, so she merely offered him a terse smile, and continued walking.

"May I be so bold, my Lady," Boromir continued, "as to ask the name of the one who has been fortunate enough to win your hand?"

"His name is Legolas." Lalaith answered, smiling to herself. "He is the son of Thranduil, the elven king of Mirkwood." The tenseness of her body began to relax at the thought of him, and her heart caught on a beat, remembering his face in the moonlight, the touch of his arm around her waist, and the taste of his kiss, when Boromir spoke again.

"Ah, a prince of the elven kingdom of Mirkwood?" He nodded impressed. "And you are a princess of Rivendell." He paused a moment, then ventured, "Is it an arranged marriage, then?"

Lalaith stopped so quickly, that Boromir nearly collided with her from behind. She spun on him, her eyes livid, furious that a mere mortal would even dare suggest such a thing. "Boromir, Lord of Gondor," she seethed, caring no longer for decorum, "I have loved Legolas for more than a millennium, and in spite of my faults, he loves me in return, more deeply than such a one as yourself could begin to comprehend, having not yet lived even fifty years." Lalaith bit her tongue then, and turned away, not for Boromir's sake, but for Aragorn's, for she knew that though her cousin's beloved was also of the race of Men, he was not so ignorant as this mindless cur.

"My Lady," Boromir's voice came from behind her, to his credit, laden with remorse. "Forgive me. It was not my intent to offend you."

"If you do not wish to offend, Lord of Gondor," Lalaith spat, shooting him a withering look, "then it would be wise of you to hold your tongue, rather than letting it run away with you, for I fear that if you follow your tongue's every whim, you will unwittingly erode the trust and respect of your fellows."

Boromir dropped his eyes to the ground. "Wise words, spoken from a wise maiden." He said softly. He seemed ashamed, and truly remorseful, and Lalaith's posture slowly relaxed.

"I too, should apologize for my rash words, Lord Boromir." She said quietly. "I should not have lashed at you as I did."

Boromir looked up, self reproach still written on his face, and silently nodded his humble acceptance of her apology.

"Come then, Lord Boromir." She said, and began to walk again. "We are expected at Lord Elrond's Counsel."


	7. Chapter 6

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 6**

**October 8, 2004**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 6

Lalaith was relieved to find that she was not as late as she had feared she would be when she mounted a short set of steps, and arrived at the circular terrace where her uncle's Counsel was to be held. A semicircle of seats had been placed around a round stone plinth, where, she assumed, the One Ring would be placed at the appropriate time. She shuddered inwardly, not anticipating the sight of it again.

Before the stone pedestal, a high backed, stately chair for her uncle had been set, with smaller, less decorative seats beside it.

Boromir left her side immediately when he saw his fellow humans, standing together in a small group, speaking in hushed tones. Lalaith sighed in relief, ashamedly admitting to herself that she was not unhappy to lose his company. Entirely too uncouth and impetuous for her comfort, she thought to herself. A group of dwarves, summoned for the counsel, were already seated, and looking impatient for the meeting to begin. One especially, a dwarf who looked relatively younger than the others, with a thick brown beard lined with plaited braids, was shifting in his seat and grumbling under his breath, as if he was unaccustomed to waiting so long. The elves of Mirkwood were seated as well, appearing more collected and composed than the dwarves, and her glance found the gaze of Legolas, whose eyes held hers with a silent intensity that made her catch her breath. He was dressed as his fellow Mirkwood elves, in light brown robes, his golden hair spilling over his shoulders and onto his chest, and Lalaith's heart beat faster.

Glancing at his hands, she saw instantly, her ring, which had always fit her largest finger somewhat loosely, as it rested on the smallest finger of his left hand, the only finger small enough to fit it.

"Lady Lalaith Elerrina." He said quietly, rising, and bowing formally. "It is a pleasure to see you. I had heard you would be attending, and I was looking for your coming."

She curtsied in return, her eyes never leaving his. Because of the company and their surroundings, Legolas could not greet her as he wished to, but she could see his desire in his eyes, and it was enough for her.

"Lady Lalaith." A deep, gentle voice said to her left, and she turned, seeing Gandalf seated on the chair second from the end. He rose in respect, leaning heavily on his tall cane.

"Mithrandir." She returned, grateful for his comforting presence.

Arwen had told her that she would be placed beside Gandalf, on the other side of Frodo, and so with a last adoring glance at Legolas who nodded in farewell, and returned to his own seat, she took the empty chair between Gandalf and an elf whom she recognized from Mirkwood, leaving the space on the very end empty for Frodo who had not yet arrived. She glanced up at her uncle Elrond, who stood before his chair, dressed regally in solemn robes of dark hues, his hands folded in front of him as he spoke in low undertones with another elf, Erestor, the chief steward of her uncle's house. She glanced across the circle to the opposite side, and noticed Aragorn in the last chair on the end, seated beside other elves, some of Rivendell, and others she did not recognize, perhaps from the Grey Havens.

Aragorn offered her a slight smile and a nod, though he seemed preoccupied, and glanced away again.

Was he thinking of their dilemma with the One Ring, or was he troubled with the same thoughts Arwen had been earlier? Lalaith could only guess. She knew a very little of Aragorn's own internal struggle. He loved Arwen, and wanted her as his own, but because of that very love, he did not want her to become a mortal any more than her father Elrond, did.

Lalaith glanced sadly down in her lap, noticing only then that she still held the small flower Boromir had given her. With a sigh of consternation, she tucked it over the fold of her belt, not noticing the eyes of Boromir across the circle from her, watching her. He frowned softly, and glanced away.

A movement at her shoulder interrupted her thoughts. Frodo had arrived, looking about him, first at Gandalf, then at Lalaith. She offered him a quick smile of encouragement, and he returned her smile timidly before he glanced around the circle at the other faces solemnly gazing at him.

"Here, my friends," Elrond said, coming forward, and placing a hand on Frodo's shoulder and addressing the gathering, "is the hobbit, Frodo son of Drogo. Few have ever come hither through greater peril or on an errand more urgent."

He smiled kindly, and motioned Frodo to the seat beside Gandalf as around the circle all those not seated, quickly took their places.

Elrond, however, did not take his own seat. He moved back to his place, and remained standing as his eyes solemnly scanned the gathering.

Frodo seemed even smaller than he was when he was seated in the chair, the back arching high over his curly brown head, the seat too high for his bare feet to reach the ground. He looked timid and shy, and a little afraid, the only hobbit in the company, and Lalaith's heart filled with compassion.

"Are you feeling well?" Lalaith whispered across Gandalf to Frodo.

Frodo gulped and nodded. "Well enough, my lady." He answered, though his voice shook a little. He lifted his head to look at her, and tried to smile bravely.

Lalaith returned his smile, admiring the sturdy little hobbit, who had come so far with the Ring, having already been through much more than he ever should have. Soon, she was sure, he would no longer have to endure the Ring's presence. Lalaith scanned the solemn group, the air heavy with anticipation, waiting for Elrond to speak. Soon the Ring would be another's duty, someone who was strong enough to bear the responsibility. Someone here, she thought. Herself? The idea was laughable. If she was the ringbearer, it would drive her mad in a matter of minutes. Of that she was certain. Of the humans, there was only one she could think of, who might bear the ring without becoming corrupted himself. But Aragorn would never take it, too fearful that he would repeat the mistakes of his ancestor, Isildur, so many millennia before. None of the other humans, Boromir especially, could stand the power of the ring without succumbing to the temptation of its power. Nor the dwarves, she thought, glancing over them, her eyes pausing on the younger dwarf she had noticed earlier with the braids in his beard. They were entirely too selfish, too preoccupied with digging in their tunnels for the shiny baubles the earth offered up. One of the elves, perhaps, could take it. She glanced at Legolas, whose eyes were fixed intently on Elrond, waiting, though they flashed momentarily to her. Could he-? It was possible, but the thought filled her with fear. Even elves were not entirely unsusceptible to the seductive power of the ring, and if it were to take him as it had taken Isildur, it would be worse than losing him to death.

"Strangers from distant lands," her uncle's sober, commanding voice brought her head around sharply to him, "friends of old, you've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." He spoke slowly, a heaviness in his voice underlying the weight of duty which they, as members of his Counsel, all bore. "Middle earth stands upon the brink of distruction. None can escape it." A chill shivered along her spine and she glanced at Legolas who returned her gaze with a somber expression. "You will unite, or you will fall."

Lalaith glanced across the circle at the dwarves, and found the eyes of the younger dwarf watching her with a frosty stare, his thoughts seeming to mirror her own. _Unite with Elves_? His mind seemed to be thinking. _Ridiculous_! "Each race is bound to this fate." Her uncle continued. "This one doom." Elrond paused and glanced at Frodo who gulped nervously. "Bring forth the ring, Frodo." He said, gesturing to the stone pedestal.

With a sigh, Frodo hopped off of his chair, and walked slowly to the center of the group, extended his hand, and placed the small, golden ring in the center of the stone's circular surface.

Lalaith cringed, and edged back against her chair, but the Ring was, for the moment, silent. Frodo turned and came back to his chair, settling in it with a sigh, almost of release.

"So it is true." Lalaith's eyes shot across the circle, focusing on Boromir who had spoken in a soft whisper. She drew in a long breath and released it as Boromir slowly rose to his feet.

"In a dream I saw the eastern sky grow dark." He said, rubbing his head softly with two fingers. "But in the west, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, `Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's bane is found.'" He began walking toward the Ring, almost as if in a trance. Lalaith sat up quickly in her chair, and shot a glance at her uncle who was watching Boromir with as much concern written on his own features. "Isildur's bane." Boromir repeated to himself, extending a hand as if he meant to take up the Ring for himself.

Elrond shot to his feet and commanded, "Boromir!"

"_Ash nazg durbatuluk_." Lalaith jerked in her chair, and stared in alarm at Gandalf who had risen to his feet, and was leaning heavily on his staff, advancing slowly at Boromir.

Was he speaking the same Black Speech she had heard coming from the ring? "_Ash nazg gimbatul_." A heavy, sick feeling washed over her, and she shuddered. Her limbs felt suddenly heavier than lead, and freezing cold. Her uncle had collapsed into his own chair, a hand rising to his head as if to ward off pain. The brown haired dwarf, however, bounced in his seat, as if eager for a fight, and snatched at an ax that had been leaning beside his chair. Was it only Lalaith's perception, or had the sky actually grown darker? She glanced at Legolas who shuddered and closed his eyes against the misery the words created. "_Ash nazg thakatuluk_." She glared up at Gandalf who had driven Boromir back to his own chair. What was he thinking to accomplish by doing this?

"_Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul_."

As the words faded from Gandalf's lips, so did the heaviness in her limbs, and the blackness shrouding her heart. She straightened in her spine, questioning Gandalf with anger in her eyes, but his glance did not meet hers.

"Never before has any voice uttered that tongue here, in Imladris." Elrond hissed at last, his own strength beginning to return.

"I do not ask your pardon Master Elrond," Gandalf returned, breathless himself, "for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West." He glared at Boromir before turned back for his own seat. "The ring is altogether evil."

"It cannot be handled, nor even touched by one who cannot resist its evil." Lalaith added in a murmur, finally meeting Gandalf's eyes, who nodded his agreement, and offered her a momentary glance of apology as he sat.

"Nay, it is a gift." Boromir breathed, once again rising to his feet. "A gift to the foes of Mordor." He turned to address the gathering. "Why not use this ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay." He slapped his chest, his face furrowed with emotion. "By the blood of our people, are your lands kept safe." He gestured, almost accusingly, at the seated assembly. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him."

_Did this foolish whelp never learn_? Lalaith asked herself in frustration before she spoke. "You cannot weild it. None of us can."

Boromir turned to face her, his jaw working beneath his beard, but before he could return an answer, Aragorn spoke in her defense, "The Lady is right. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

At Aragorn's words, Boromir spun on him. He did not hesitate as he had with Lalaith, to retaliate. "And what would a _ranger_ know of this matter?" He demanded scornfully.

"This is no mere ranger." Lalaith's eyes shot to Legolas. He had risen to his feet, his shoulders square, his gaze fixed steadily on Boromir. "This is Aragorn. Son of Arathorn." His voice was soft and melodious, yet commanding. Lalaith lowered her eyes, smiling to herself, gently biting her lip. "You owe him your allegiance."

"Aragorn?" Boromir asked, turning back to appraise whom he had thought of as an umkempt ranger. "_This_ is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas murmured firmly.

A pained look came over Aragorn's face, as he waved Legolas back to his place. "_Havodad, Legolas_." He said gently.

Legolas continued to glare at Boromir, but obeyed Aragorn.

Boromir, however, did not yet take his seat, and instead turned and glowered at the Prince of Mirkwood contemptuously. "Gondor has no king." He growled, then turned toward Aragorn as he fell gracelessly back into his seat. "Gondor needs no king."

"Aragorn is right." The clear, wise voice of Gandalf sounded welcome now, to Lalaith's ears, alleviating the previous tension. "We cannot use it."

"You have only one choice." Elrond added gravely. "The ring must be destroyed."

"What are we waiting for?" The brown haired dwarf demanded, leaping from his seat. He snatched up his ax, and before Elrond could command him to stop, had jumped at the stone pedestal, bringing his ax squarely down on the Ring. An image shot through Lalaith's head, a flame encircled eye flashing for an instant, into her thoughts in the same moment that a loud, splintering crack exploded through the air, sending the dwarf hurtling to the ground, flat on his back.

Lalaith shuddered, even after the image was gone, at the frightening memory of it.

Shards of the dwarf's broken ax lay on the flat surface of the pedestal, scattered about the One Ring, which lay unmoved, and unmarred in the spot where Frodo had placed it.  
Beside her Gandalf, had turned to Frodo, concerned, and Lalaith glanced over at him, her brow knitting. His head had fallen into his hand. He seemed stunned, but otherwise unhurt. Perhaps he had had the same vision she had.

"The ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess." Elrond said to the bewildered dwarf, glancing about at the members of the group. "The ring was made in the fires of mount Doom. Only there, can it be unmade." His voice grew more solemn as he continued. "It must be taken deep into Mordor, and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." He paused, and his eyes roved over the seated Counsel before him. "One of you must do this."

"One does not simply walk into Mordor." Lalaith bit back a sigh of exasperation, for Boromir was again speaking. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there, that does not sleep. And the great eye," his hand formed a circle with his fingers to illustrate his words, "is ever watchful." He waved his hand, and continued. "`Tis a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breath is a poisonous fume. Not with 10,000 men could you do this." He released a hopeless breath, shaking his head. "It is folly."

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" Legolas demanded, once again rising to his feet, his eyes shooting darts at Boromir. Lalaith smiled, her heart swelling with pride. "The ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose _you_ think you're the one to do it?" The dwarf, Gimli, growled, hopping to his feet, and glowering up at Legolas.

Lalaith scowled and gripped her armrests tightly, refraining from bounding across the space between them, and slapping the insolent little dwarf in the mouth for addressing her beloved in such a contemptuous way.

"And if we fail?" Boromir demanded of Legolas, ignoring Gimli. "What then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

Equally ignorant of Boromir, Gimli shouted, "I will be dead before I see the ring in the hands of an Elf!"

The elves of Mirkwood were instantly on their feet, enraged. The humans too, and had Gandalf not placed a gentle, calming hand on Lalaith's she would have shot to her feet as well. She glanced at him, and he shook his head gently.

"Never trust an elf!" Gimli shouted above the sudden arguing that had exploded around him.

At last, Gandalf himself rose to his feet, and approached the melee. "Do you not understand?" He pleaded, his voice hardly audible in the din. "While you bicker among yourselves, Sauron's power grows."

Lalaith at last, rose to her own feet. "Do you not understand?" She repeated, addressing Boromir, who had turned on Gandalf, and was arguing animatedly with him. "Have you heard nothing?" She came to Gandalf's shoulder, and faced Boromir who stopped his ranting momentarily to stare down at her. "It is not like a sword or an ax, subject to the whim of the one who weilds it. It has its own mind. It would use you as its own tool for evil. It would take your free will from you. Can you not understand that?"

Boromir frowned at her then, and gestured to the Ring, shaking his head. "One who is wise enough, strong enough, could bend the power of the Ring to his own will." He insisted.

Lalaith groaned in frustration as Gandalf shook his head. "It cannot be used for good." Gandalf insisted. "It is infused with Sauron's evil. It must be destroyed, or it will destroy us all."

Through the din, a small voice sounded, "I will take it."

Lalaith and Gandalf heard and turned, though few others had heard him yet.

"I will take it." Frodo was upon his feet, moving slowly forward his large, soft blue eyes glancing up at the crowd, timid, yet determined. Angry voices stilled as heads turned, surprised, to listen. "I will take the ring to Mordor." Silence reigned now, as every eye looked on him. "Though," he said in a quiet voice, "I do not know the way."

Without hesitation, Gandalf stepped toward him. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," he said with a pat on his little shoulder, "so long as it is yours to bear."

Aragorn rose from his chair then one of the few to stay seated, and came forward, kneeling before Frodo. "By my life or death, if I can protect you, I will." Lalaith smiled softly at the look of gratitude on Frodo's face at Aragorn's vow. "You have my sword."

Lalaith looked up and smiled at her uncle who drew and released a breath of relief.

"And you have my bow."

Her head shot around. It was a voice she had not expected to hear. Legolas strode past her, his hand brushing her back momentarily before he took his place at Gandalf's shoulder.

"And mine, as well." She added quickly, moving to stand beside him.

Legolas glanced down into her eyes, surprise written on his features. He shot a glance at Elrond, as if expecting her uncle to protest, but Elrond said nothing, simply nodding somberly at Lalaith as she turned his eyes to his, silently asking him for his permission.

"And my ax." Came the gravelly voice of the dwarf who marched forward, and planted his feet beside Lalaith. He glanced up at her and Legolas disdainfully, and she shook her head and glanced away.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one." Boromir murmured, coming forward, his eyes fixed on Frodo. He looked to Elrond. "If this is indeed the will of the counsel," he sighed resignedly, "then Gondor will see it done."

"Hey!" A voice, unexpected and close, came from behind Frodo as Sam darted into view from behind a tall, grassy plant where he had been hiding, apparently having watched the entire proceeding. He darted under Aragorn's arm, and skidded to a stop at Frodo's side, folding his arms determinedly. "Mister Frodo's not going anywhere without me."

"No, indeed." Elrond said, his eyebrow lifting, as a sparkle of humor lit his eyes. "It is highly impossible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret counsel, and you are not."

"Oi!" Another small voice, Pippin's voice, shouted from behind Elrond's throne, and down off of the steps of the veranda. "We're coming too!"

Lalaith smiled delightedly as Pip and Merry scampered into view, and up the steps.

"You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us." Merry insisted as the two young hobbits came to Frodo's side, and turned to look up into Elrond's startled face.

"Anyway," Pip said importantly, "you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission. Quest." He paused, then lamely finished, "Thing."

Merry glanced at Pippin in irritation. "Well that rules you out, Pip."

Pippin glared back at Merry.

Lalaith stifled a laugh, and patted Pippen gently on the shoulder. He turned, forgetting his annoyance at Merry, and glanced up at her adoringly.

Elrond's eyes scanning the group standing before him. His eyes rested momentarily on Lalaith, and he paused, his face taking on a worried look, working over thoughts in his mind, before he nodded, and spoke. "So be it." His voice rose, adding power to his words, as he concluded, "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great!" Pippin piped in then, rocking back on his heels. "Where are we going?"

Legolas stood in the shadows of the Hall of Fire, leaning against a pillar, content to do no more than gaze down away from the house and into the moonlit garden where Lalaith was as she sat alone with the hobbits, clapping and laughing delightedly to the songs and poetic recitations of Merry and Pippin as they competed to outdo each other for her attention. Sam, Frodo, and Bilbo, sat nearby, but did not add much to the conversation. Bilbo had already been on his share of adventures in his life, and saw the impending undertaking of the younger hobbits with less than idealistic excitement. Frodo, as the ringbearer, undoubtedly felt the pressures of his task, and Sam, who was ever watchful of Frodo, must have sensed his disquiet, and thus, remained appropriately calm.

The hall behind him was filled, with other guests summoned for Elrond's counsel, listening as the Lady Arwen sang the Song of Luthien as she sat beside her father, Aragorn hovering nearby, entranced, but no more attentive of her, than Legolas was, of Lalaith. He stood in awe, fascinated with her slightest change in movement, each expression of her face a new study for him. The light of her eyes sparkling as she laughed, her clear, glistening laughter, almost like a song itself, caught his own heart up in her joy. A hand moving to brush a lock of shining golden hair back from her face seemed to him the embodiment of grace itself. She was truly the most beautiful maiden of Imladris, indeed of all Middle-earth. And she loved _him_! He smiled at the thought, and continued with his tireless study of her.

Merry and Pippin had just finished a rousing hobbit drinking song together, when Lalaith, laughing, begged, in the silvery, melodious voice that made Legolas' heart swell, "Someone, please, sing something else."

"No, no!" Pippin cried. "We've done our share! We're all sung out! Now it's your turn, Lady Lalaith! You sing something!"

"In Elvish!" Merry added eagerly.

"Oh, I am not very good-," Lalaith smiled, shaking her head.

"Nonsense!" Bilbo called, speaking up at last, and pounding the point of his cane into the ground to emphasise his point. "I've heard you singing. You and your cousin Arwen put even the sweetest songs of the birds to shame!"

Lalaith bowed her head shyly, smiling gratefully at Bilbo, before she sighed, and nodded her consent.

Merry and Pippin sat down beside Sam, their round hobbit faces beaming with anticipation. Legolas himself stepped forward onto the path leading down from the Hall of Fire to the place where she sat, to hear better as Lalaith drew in a breath, gave a last shy smile, and began, filling the night with her smooth, silver voice:

"_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
silivren penna miriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-diriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
Nef aear, si nef aearon_!"

"Bravo!" Merry and Pippin cheered, as they and the other three clapped appreciatively.

Lalaith, flushed with pleasure, smiled her thanks.

"What was it about?" Sam asked.

"Queen Elbereth, of the Valar. The Star Queen. Beyond the Great Sea." Lalaith smiled.

"Whatever you said as you sang, it was beautiful." Frodo smiled.

"As beautiful as the singer herself. Would you not agree?" Legolas said, coming into the group.

Pippin and Merry brightened when they saw him, and chuckled under their breath, nudging each other with their elbows as Lalaith colored, and stood, self consciously brushing the front of her skirt with her hands.

"Oh, my!" Merry yawned suddenly, stretching his arms above his head in exaggerated motions. "I'm so _tired_ from all this singing!"

"We didn't realize how _late_ it was getting!" Pippin added, his words artificially loud and drawn out.

Sam and Frodo merely glanced at each other and laughed, seeing through the charade.

"And you youngsters are going to be getting an early start, tomorrow." Bilbo added, rising to his feet with a grunt. "Come along, let's go to our beds."

He shooed the younger hobbits before him with his cane, and the five of them, waving merrily to the two elves, traipsed happily down the garden path, Pippin and Merry's professed weariness suddenly forgotten as they energetically sang,

"The road goes ever on and on  
down from the door where it began-,"

before their voices faded away among the trees.

"The _pherian_ are very fond of you." Legolas murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, and reaching over her shoulder to kiss her cheek.

"Well, I am fond of them." Lalaith answered, snuggling back against his shoulder.

"Merry and Pippin are quite smitten with you." Legolas continued, kissing her brow.

"Though I cannot blame them. They are not so unwise as they seem."

"Then I fear their sweet little hearts are doomed to be broken." Lalaith laughed, turning in his embrace and gazing up into his eyes. "For my heart belongs to another."

Legolas smiled, almost sadly, and brushed her cheek gently with the tips of his fingers, suddenly morose. "I wish you were not going, tomorrow." He murmured. "The journey will be filled with peril."

A troubled look came over her face, and Lalaith glanced away. "Do you not remember my vow? That I would stand beside you? I would not let you fight alone? I am as skilled with bow and blade as you. You know this."

"Yes, but I fear the danger for you." Legolas whispered helplessly. "This is no mere skirmish with orcs."

"And I fear for you." Lalaith breathed, turning back to glance up into his worried face, her expression plaintive. "Have you not thought of what would happen to me if you were hurt or-," she shuddered, and Legolas tightened his grip on her, "killed, if I was not there, beside you?"

Legolas furrowed his brow, his emotions torn.

"Do you remember what you said?" Lalaith pressed. "There is something evil from my past." Lalaith's eyes searched his, pleading. "Something that hates me. Whatever it is, I must face it, eventually. You cannot do it for me. Not alone, at least."

Legolas sighed, and nodded, then bowed his head, defeated.

"Legolas." Lalaith begged. "Evil is not the only power in the world. Good is stronger."

She pressed close, gently kissing his jaw, and murmured, "_Love_ is much stronger."

Lalaith sighed brokenly, touching his face, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "I am meant to go with you in much the same way that Frodo is meant to be the bearer of the One Ring. The Valar have not forgotten us."

Legolas gave a vague smile as he said quietly, "Then by the Valar, we will see the Ring destroyed, and whatever evil haunts you, defeated."

Lalaith smiled gratefully as he said this, and drew close, tucking her head beneath his chin.

"But if I sometimes forget, and take a few steps ahead to protect you, you will forgive me, will you not?" He asked, smoothing his fingers through her glittering hair.

"Of course." She sighed. "You are easy to forgive."

Lalaith felt him bending down toward her, and lilted her face upward, finding his lips in need of warmth, and gladly pressed her mouth against his own.

A shadow watching them from the doors of the Hall of Fire shook his head in resignation, and Boromir turned back inside. He had not understood their Elvish speech, but he knew now, undeniably, how they felt for one another. "Fool." He muttered under his breath. "Fool I was, to have ever thought-," He shook his head again, and did not finish his words.

The morning was cool, and the air was clear, the calls of hundreds of birds accompanied by the endless rush of water over the falls surrounding Rivendell, as they had for uncounted ages of time. But this day was different from any other, Lalaith reminded herself as she made her way slowly down the steps of her uncle's house to join those who would be her companions. Gandalf, the young dwarf called Gimli, and the hobbits were waiting in the courtyard before the great stone gate, but the others had not arrived yet. She smiled as she approached, seeing Sam stroking the nose of his faithful brown pony, Bill. That the horse would be going with her, somehow gave her an added measure of comfort.

"_Pagh_, here's the elf-girl." Gimli grunted upon her approach, clearly less than enthusiastic to see her.

She ignored him, focusing rather, on Gandalf's happy but subdued greeting, and the hobbit's cheerful cries as Merry and Pippin called, as if racing each other to greet her first, "Good morning, Lalaith!"

"You look-," Pippin began cheerily, then stopped in midsentence and frowned, biting his lip as if thinking, strenuously, of what to say.

"Like a _boy_?" Gimli offered him sarcastically.

Lalaith scowled at the dwarf, but could not completely disagree when she glanced down at herself, clad in a tunic and leggings of various shades of blue and grey, soft boots of twilight blue bound to her legs, reaching nearly to her knees. Her bow and quiver with her arrows and knives, were across her back, belted, criss-crossed, across her chest. Her hair, used to being left hanging freely about her shoulders, was bound and plaited in one long rope of gold, spilling over her left shoulder.

"Like a _Vala_, an angel," came a soft but powerful voice behind her.

Lalaith turned, her eyes brightening as Legolas skipped, almost silently, down a small set of stone steps, and approached the group, his stride smooth and lithe, and commanding at the same time, as he stared the dwarf down until Gimli dropped his eyes, and took several steps backward, grumbling under his breath, "_One elf is bad enough, but two? Agh._"

A pair of boots, at first distant, but clomping nearer, told Lalaith, even before she saw him, that Boromir was coming. She sucked in a breath, forcing herself to look calm and pleasant as Boromir came into view around a vine woven pillar, and looked over the gathering group with something akin to apprehension written on his bearded face.

"Hail, Lord Boromir." Lalaith greeted him with a slight nod as he came nearer. She remembered having risen that morning, and glanced at her bedside table. The silver flower Legolas had given her, so many months before, still sat in its cup, as well preserved as always, but the flower Boromir had given her, had withered away, crumpling into dust at the very touch of her finger. A fearful premonition had come over her then, but she put it behind her, trying to forget it.

"My Lady." He said, nodding back, and then glanced at Legolas looking him up and down before he turned to the others, and nodded terse greetings to them.

"Very good, you have all arrived." Came a somber voice from behind Gandalf. All eyes turned to see Elrond approaching, Aragorn, a half step behind him, drawing nearer to the assembled Fellowship.

Aragorn seemed subdued and somber as he took his place beside Gandalf, and Lalaith wondered if it might have to do with him having come from the direction of his mother's grave. She offered him a slight smile of encouragement, and he returned it with a nod.

Elrond drew near to Lalaith, and gathered her hands up in his, his eyes shining with unshed wetness as he squeezed her hands gently.

"My child-," he began, his voice heavy with emotion. "I cannot lie to you, and tell you that I am glad you are choosing to journey with the Fellowship." Lalaith swallowed hard, feeling a hard lump forming in her throat, and tears filling her eyes as Elrond gently squeezed her hands. "Until you return, my days will be filled with unease, and my nights will be sleepless. But I will let you go, because I know it is what you must do. And I am proud of you." He smiled, even as he blinked his eyes fiercely.

"Uncle Elrond-," Lalaith managed, before emotion overcame her ability to speak, and she threw herself into his arms to hide her weeping against his shoulder.

He held her tightly to him for several moments, before they drew apart, and he took her hands again as he focused his eyes on Legolas, standing only a step behind her.

"Your first duty, Legolas Thranduilion, is to the ringbearer." Elrond said gravely, his gaze steadily fixed on the younger Elf, "But I give you an extra charge as well, to watch over Lalaith. She is no less my daughter than were Celebrian to have borne her. She is dearer to me than all the treasures of Middle Earth."

"Do not fear, Lord Elrond." Legolas said steadily, inclining his head in a silent pledge. "For I had already taken that charge upon myself."

Elrond drew in a breath, and smiled gratefully at the Prince of Mirkwood before he released Lalaith's hands, and stepped back.

Elves were beginning to gather, silently assembling around them, and Elrond, with effort, took on the somber look of authority once again.

Arwen arrived, with two of her maids beside her, having come silently through the trees, and pausing several steps away, to Lalaith's right. Elrohir and Elladan stood nearby, their faces solemn, and expressionless.

"The ring bearer is setting out on a quest of mount Doom." Elrond said, scanning the members of the Fellowship, his eyes resting on each one as he spoke, though his eyes lingered for a moment longer on Lalaith, his expression silently conveying tenderness and concern for her. She smiled at him momentarily, wanting to assure him one last time, then looked away, her glance fixing on Arwen. Arwen's eyes were filled to near overflowing with tears, her gazed fixed unmovingly on Aragorn.

Lalaith frowned softly, her thoughts suddenly troubled. Arwen's tears were more than those of a maiden saying farewell to her beloved as she saw him off on a perilous journey. There was sadness, and hopelessness in Arwen's eyes, as if she somehow believed she would never see him again. Lalaith tried to give her comfort with her eyes, but Arwen would not look away from Aragorn.

"And you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go farther than you will." Her uncle's words continued somber, sedate. "Fare well. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves, and Men, and all Free Folk, go with you."

Elrond pressed his right hand against his chest, and extended it outward in an elven salute, which Lalaith, Legolas, and Aragorn returned.

"The fellowship awaits the ringbearer." Gandalf's voice was measured and calm, belying the immensity of the journey they were about to undertake.

Frodo gulped then, and turned, his eyes filled with the knowledge of the weighty task before him, and took the lead, moving past Gandalf and Aragorn, and through the gate of Imladris.

"_Mordor, Gandalf_," Lalaith heard him whisper urgently as he surveyed the split path before him, "_is it left or right_?"

"Left." Answered Gandalf, pressing a hand gently against his small shoulder.

Lalaith fell into step beside Legolas as they passed with the others under the gate. An involuntary shudder gripping her unexpectedly as the shadow of the gate passed behind them. The realization that she was leaving all she loved, her family, all that was familiar and safe, behind her, settled heavily onto her as they turned onto the southern path. But as Legolas' hand reached over, and encircled her own, firm, solid, and comforting, she felt better, lighter of heart. She turned to look up at him, and he smiled down into her eyes his own blue eyes filled with warmth and devotion.

Not all that she loved was behind her. She reminded herself, and returned his smile.


	8. Chapter 7

**Lalaith Elerrina--Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 7**

**February 8, 2005**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

_Hello, friends! I must appologize before hand if I misspell words in Elfish, or mess up the grammar. If I do, I'm sorry!_

Chapter 7

Boromir scanned the southern horizon, squinting through the partial darkness of the half moon, studying the jagged lines of mountains and hills profiled against the night sky.

They had been traveling south through the foothills of the misty Mountains for days now, he had lost count of how many, making their way toward the Gap of Rohan, where they would then turn their way west, toward Mordor.

_Folly. Foolishness._ He muttered in his mind. _If we used the Ring for ourselves, we could crush the orcs of Mordor with one blow, and Sauron's power would be annihilated._ But the will of the Elven Counsel had overruled his own. He shook his head, and made his way carefully off of the sloping side of the high rock where he had been keeping watch, to the hollow in the hills where the others were sleeping. He could hear, even before he saw them, where they were, by following Gimli's raucous snores.

The tree lined hollow opened up to him in the darkness, and he could make out the shapes of his companions. Aragorn, Gandalf, and Gimli were on one side of the clearing. Gimli was wrapped up in his sleeping role, sprawled on the ground, his mouth open wide as he released another noisy snort. _How could anyone sleep to that?_ Boromir wondered to himself.

Aragorn and Gandalf were sitting as they slept, their backs propped against trees, their swords and Gandalf's staff within easy reach of their hands. And in spite of Gimli's snoring, Boromir knew that the slightest crackle of a twig would waken them. The hobbits were sleeping in the middle of the circle of ground, spread out in a half circle around the dying fire, which was not much more than embers now, and they were beginning to shiver. Pippin's teeth, even, were starting to chatter.

Boromir released a sympathetic breath, and reached over the pile of gathered wood to pick up a few pieces. Carefully stepping over Merry's curled up form, he poked the fire with a long twig to ignite a few sparks, and then lay the new wood on the glowing coals. Soon, a warm fire was blazing, and Boromir smiled with satisfaction when he noted that Pippin's chattering teeth had grown silent, and the other hobbits were no longer shivering as they slept.

In the light of the new flames, Boromir could see Frodo's sleeping face clearly. The gold of the ring, hanging from a chain around his neck, sparkled in the firelight, almost as if it were beckoning to him. He imagined he could even hear it calling his name, as if from the far distance. _Boromir_-, He shook his head suddenly to clear it, and stepped away from the fire, remembering why he had come back in the first place. His watch was over, and it was Lalaith's turn. He needed to go waken her.

He turned toward the two elves who were sleeping on the far side of the clearing, blinking his eyes as he adjusted them once again to the darkness, half blinded by the glare of the fire, and of the ring's sparkle.

Legolas, the Mirkwood elf, was half sitting in much the same position as Gandalf and Aragorn, his back against the rough bark of a tree, his eyes only lightly closed. His bow and quiver, as well as Lalaith's were only a space away, close enough to snatch in an instant, if it was needed.

Lalaith was sleeping beside him, curled, like a little mouse, against his chest. Legolas' sturdy arms were wrapped protectively around her, one hand, resting against her face. His thumb, even in sleep, was stroking her cheek gently. On the smallest finger of his hand, was a band of gold, set with a single gem, a sapphire. Boromir had never asked about it, but he guessed that it was a gift from Lalaith.

"_Boromir, Lord of Gondor_," her seething words came back at him from the first day he'd met her, mocking him, haunting him, "_I have loved Legolas for more than a millennium, and he loves me in return, more deeply than such a one as yourself could begin to comprehend, having not yet lived even fifty years_." Even now, the words still stung. Rallying himself away from that memory, he called softly, "Lady Lalaith."

She barely moved, but Legolas' eyes shot open, instantly awake, and looked up into Boromir's. "What is it?" He asked.

Boromir gulped, hoping he was only imagining the accusing look in the Elf's eyes, as if Legolas could read his thoughts. "It is the Lady's turn to watch."

"Can she not sleep a few moments longer?" Legolas asked, squeezing her more closely. Lalaith sighed contentedly as he did this, and snuggled devotedly into his shoulder.

"Elven eyes are better. She might see something I could miss."

"Then I will take her watch." Legolas said.

"You took the last watch."

"It is no matter." Legolas returned, and carefully extracted himself from Lalaith's embrace so as not to disturb her, and stood.

"_Legolas, vilya na ring_." Lalaith mumbled in her sleep in the elegant, melodic tones of Elfish, reaching out as if seeking for Legolas to draw him back to her.

"What did she say?" Boromir whispered.

"She says the air is cold." Legolas translated. "I will carry her nearer to the hobbits."

"Here, give her this as well. It will help to keep her warm." Boromir said, detaching his cloak, and offering it to Legolas. The air was indeed surprisingly cold, but Boromir forced himself to refrain from shivering, not wanting Legolas to see his weakness.

"Thank you." Legolas said as he took it, and knelt over Lalaith, wrapping it around her lithe form.

"_Hi na i gollo o Boromir_." He murmured, and scooped her easily up into his arms.

"_Man?_" She queried in a whisper, leaning her head against his shoulder, and slipping her slender arms around his neck.

"_Hir o Gondor. Boromir_." Legolas repeated as he set her down in the spot that the hobbits had left open near the fire. "_Si na i naur a pherian_."

"_Ai_," Lalaith sighed, reaching from beneath Boromir's cloak to grasp Legolas' hand. "_Pherian na u-le_." Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, and she smiled up into Legolas' eyes, her gaze filling with such love, that a hard lump formed in Boromir's throat, and he had to look away. "_Im melin le, Legolas_."

Boromir knew at least, what that phrase meant, and he stared hard at the ground as Lalaith's fingers reached up to brush Legolas' cheek, then withdrew as she snuggled back into Boromir's cloak, and closed her eyes again, her breath growing soft and even.

"_Im melin le, vana loth_." Legolas breathed, though she could not hear him, and bent low to brush his lips against her brow.

Boromir drew in and released a long breath as Legolas finally stood, and turned toward him.

"Again, thank you." He said with a nod toward Lalaith's sleeping form, curled within his cloak.

"'Twas no trouble." Boromir said, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. "Come. We will go together."

Legolas nodded, snatched up his bow and quiver, and followed as Boromir turned and led the way from the fire-lit glade into the darkness, up the wooded path, and then up the slick, inclined side of the large boulder he'd stood on top of for the last several hours. He was breathing hard when he finally arrived at the top, but Legolas seemed hardly out of breath as he scanned the southern horizon, his keen, elf eyes catching every detail of their surroundings.

"Take your rest, Boromir." He said over his shoulder.

"I am not tired." Boromir muttered, turning and gazing toward the north. "I will watch with you."

"Very well." Legolas agreed, and fell silent.

Boromir wondered if Legolas could sense the tension in his voice, if so, he gave no indication that he did. Legolas was not one to speak much, unless necessary. If Boromir wished for him to talk, he would have to be the first to speak.

"You are very fortunate." Boromir said without turning, staring out into the darkness. "To have the gift of her love."

"Every time I draw breath, I thank the Valar for her." Legolas returned, his voice soft, and thoughtful.

"That ring you wear. It is hers, is it not?"

"It is." Legolas said, then added, "It was a gift from Lord Elrond to her on the seven hundredth anniversary of her arrival in Imladris."

"Oh?" Boromir asked. "How old is she now?"

"No one is certain." Legolas returned. "But it is guessed that she is near to being one thousand, four hundred and twenty eight."

Boromir's brow furrowed. "Her birth date is not known?"

"She is not truly Lord Elrond's daughter. She is his ward. Though to him, she is no different than a daughter." Legolas sighed to himself. "Nor do I see her differently."

"Whatever her origin, she is a great and noble lady." Boromir agreed readily. "I could see it from the moment I met her in Rivendell." He cleared his throat, hoping his voice did not sound wistful. "She was kind enough to accompany me to the Counsel."

"Yes, I saw you arrive together." Legolas murmured. From the sound of his voice, Boromir could tell that Legolas had turned toward him. "What did she speak of, while you were with her?"

Boromir gulped hard. "She spoke of you."

"She did?" For the first time since he'd met him, Legolas' voice seemed truly animated. "What did she say?"

"Surely no more than you already know." Boromir said, forcing a smile. "She told me that you are betrothed, and that she'd loved you for more than a thousand years."

For a long moment, only silence came from Legolas, and at last Boromir turned to see him, gazing off into the western sky, his eyes deep in thought. "There was a time, not long ago, when I was uncertain whether she loved me or not." Legolas murmured, almost to himself. "I pledged my love to her, but she would not give hers in return. She swore she was unworthy of me, my being a prince, and her origin so uncertain. She left in tears. For months, I thought I had lost her forever."

"That must have caused you great pain." Boromir gulped, feeling the twinges of pain in his own heart. As a mere mortal, his unworthiness of an immortal elf maiden, was not pretend, or imagined.

"It was only when I returned for Lord Elrond's Counsel that she was at last able to confess her own love for me, and give me her promise of marriage." Legolas breathed deeply, and released it slowly. "I have longed for that promise for centuries."

Boromir glanced down and nodded, but said nothing.  
"And to hear that she spoke to you of her love for me, is-," a smile twitched at Legolas' lips, "very heartening."

"Yet it should not be surprising." Boromir said, struggling to sound cheerful. "To see the way she looks at you, and speaks to you, it seems only natural to think that she was born to love none but you."

Legolas' face, usually reserved, grew into a full smile as Boromir said this. Boromir's eyes shot down to the rough surface of the rock on which they stood, hoping to hide his tortured emotions. "As I said, you are fortunate." Boromir again forced a smile onto his face. "She possesses uncommon beauty, and great wisdom also, and courage, rare in any maiden. Yet she is not vain or arrogant, or insolent. As if she is wholly unaware of all the virtues she possesses, with none of the vices of the race of Men."

"Do not berate your own race in such a manner. Even elves are not without error." Legolas said mildly. "True strength lies not in the absence of vices, but in the overcoming of them. The only true danger lies in the possession of faults, and the inability to recognize it."

Boromir's brow furrowed deeply as Legolas said this. Something gnawed at the back of his mind, but he could not grasp what it could be that troubled him. He only knew that something in what Legolas had just said, discomfited him.

"Suddenly, I am very weary." He mumbled, almost to himself, unable to look at Legolas. "I think I will go and take some sleep."

"It is well deserved." Legolas nodded. "I will keep watch here."

Boromir nodded without looking at him, slid carefully down the slope of the rock, and made his way back to the others. But once he reached the fire, he did not sleep, as he had said he would, and instead sat cross legged between Merry and Pippin, and set his eyes on the ring, peaking from beneath Frodo's shirt where it hung from its chain around his neck as the hobbit slept, winking and blinking at him in the light of the fire. Boromir onced again imagined it whispering his name from the distance, his gaze unchangingly fixed upon it until the light of the morning appeared in the east, and the fire died down, once again to orange embers.


	9. Chapter 8

**Lalaith Elerrina--Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 8**

**February 20, 2005**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

_Hello, Friends! Because of popular demand, I have decided to include a translation of the conversation Boromir overheard in chapter 7 between Legolas and Lalaith in Elvish (that's spelled right, isn't it?) Anyway, Lalaith said "The air is cold" (Legolas, of course, translated that for Boromir) Then after Boromir gave him his cloak for her, Legolas said, "This is Boromir's cloak." which he used to cover her up with. Lalaith said "Who?" Legolas said, "The Lord of Gondor. Boromir." Then after he carried her to the fire, he said, "Here is the fire, and the hobbits." Lalaith said "Alas, the hobbits are not you." Then they went into that MUSHY "I love you" stuff. Oh, and Legolas called her a "beautiful flower"._

Chapter 8

The soft morning breeze coming off the slopes of the Misty Mountains, smelled of snow, and high alpine flowers as it swirled around Lalaith where she stood, perched on a rock, scanning the southern terrain, the land the fellowship would be traveling that day.

Their future path did not seem as if it would be difficult to traverse, unlike the broken rocky slope of tumbled land upon which the Fellowship now found itself, and Lalaith turned her attention to her right.

Frodo and Sam were a few steps away from her, Sam bent over a fire where sausages and biscuits were sizzling in a pan. Bill, the horse, was nearby, hidden in a thicket of trees, contentedly snuffing out forage for his breakfast.

Frodo was seated on a lip of rock, overlooking the other two hobbits and the humans who were a step down the sloping side of the hill. The soft clang of steel against steel was coming up from that direction where Boromir was tutoring Merry and Pippin on their swordsmanship, while Aragorn sat nearby, puffing on a pipe of hobbit-weed, occasionally calling out instructions to the two hobbits.

Boromir was patient with the hobbits, Lalaith admitted to herself, much like an older brother, and Merry and Pippin, especially, seemed to have become his favorites. He no longer seemed as boorish and uncouth as he had when Lalaith first met him. He actually seemed kind, even chivalrous, she thought, remembering the morning she'd woken to find herself wrapped in his own cloak. But there was still something about him that troubled her. Perhaps, she thought, she _hoped_, it was only prejudice against the race of Men that made her feel so. But why did her feelings of apprehension and suspicion flare all the more, whenever she saw him watching Frodo's ring in the rare moments when the hobbit allowed it to be visible?

Since her first encountered with the One Ring, she had not heard its hideous voice in the choppy, hissing, painful tones of the Black Speech, but even now, she could still remember the feeling of revulsion and dread, the cold, and the fear she felt. And it seemed odd to her, that Boromir should seem to be so attracted to it, as if the ring had exactly the opposite effect on him. And it frightened her.

"M'lady?" Sam called out, trotting up to the rock where Lalaith was perched, carrying a plate with a few sausages, held out to her. "Would you like one? Brought all the way from Hobbiton."

"What?" Lalaith laughed, turning to face him, and hopping down from her rock. "I've never had hobbit food before. Are they very good?"

"Pagh!" Came Gimli's usual grunt of disgust. He stood with his fists on his stout hips near to where Gandalf sat resting atop a large rock, looking thoughtful as he smoked his own pipe. "The elf-girl's _never_ eaten a sausage! And you've been alive-, How many years?" He shut his mouth quickly with Legolas' stern look from where the Prince of Mirkwood stood on the other side of the rocky basin, surveying the land to the north as Lalaith had been watching the south.

Lalaith ignored Gimli, and promised Sam, "I'll eat a small piece. But you'll have to do something for me."

Sam nodded eagerly, and with his fingers, carefully tore the end off of one of the sausages, and offered it to her.

Gingerly taking it between thumb and forefinger, she popped it in her mouth, chewing briskly, and swallowing just as quickly, before smacking her lips and testing the aftertaste in her mouth.

"Hm." She nodded brightly to Sam. "A bit more spicy than elven food. But not bad."

Sam brightened, and Lalaith's smile grew. He was a bit reserved than Merry and Pippin, but she could see that he craved her approval as much as the other hobbits did. And though he did not talk as much, he was always sweet and thoughtful when he did.

"Now, what did you want from me?" He asked, his expression open and waiting.

Lalaith glanced around, and seeing that no others were paying attention, smiled, and said, "Only _her_ name."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Pardon? Whose name?"

"The hobbit-lass you keep thinking about."

Sam's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. "You don't-, I mean, Elves can't-, _read minds_, can they?"

Lalaith shook her head, laughing lightly. "No, but I've seen you with that look in your eye, every once in a while. Someone's back in the Shire, waiting for you."

Sam flushed furiously, and ducked his head.

"Well?" Lalaith softly laughed.

"Rose." Sam muttered to the ground.

"Rose?" Lalaith asked, as he managed to lift his head and glance up into her eyes.

Sam shrugged, and grinned, shuffling his bare little hobbit feet. "Rosie Cotton's her name."

"I'm certain she is as pretty as her name." Lalaith smiled.

"She's prettier." Mumbled Sam to the ground again. "But, she's not exactly waiting, so I'm not sure if-,"

"Oh, she will." Lalaith assured him.

Sam looked up, hopefully. "She will? Are you sure?"

"Well, Sam," Lalaith sighed, "you like this Rosie Cotton, yes?"

Sam nodded with a grin.

"And knowing you, you wouldn't like her if she was silly and flighty. And since she's not, she must be a wise hobbit-lass. And since she is as wise as she is," Lalaith smiled and finished, "she'll wait for you."

Sam's honest little hobbit face took on a look of utter thankfulness. "Oh, I hope so." He sighed. But then, his eyes widened, and his head shot around toward the fire again.

"Frodo's breakfast! I'll burn it!" He gasped, and darted away from Lalaith, back to the fire where he poked at the sausages and biscuits, then speared several more onto the plate, which he carried carefully to Frodo.

"If anyone asked _my_ opinion," came the rough, annoyed voice of Gimli nearby as he approached near Gandalf, "which I know they're _not_, I'd say we were taking the _long_ way `round."

Lalaith directed her attention to the dwarf and shook her head tiredly, watching Gandalf as the old wizard's eyes turned to Gimli who stood below him, looking up at him with intensity written on his bearded face.

"Gandalf, we _could_ pass through the mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome."

Lalaith shuddered at the very name, _Moria_, and visions of black bottomless pits, empty and silent, void of life and light, shivered through her mind. Her eyes shot to Gandalf, hoping he would not give the answer she dreaded.

"No, Gimli, I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice."

Gandalf answered calmly, and Lalaith breathed a sigh of relief before turning back, and hopping up, once again, onto her rock to peer southward.

Her slight smile of relief, however, was extinguished quickly as she squinted into the clouds in the distant sky. What was that dark, shifting cloudy mass in the hazy distance? It had not been there, before.

A scuffle erupted behind her, down on the level where the humans and the two youngest hobbits were. Listening absently, while watching the black, shifting cloud swell and grow larger, Lalaith understood from Merry and Pippin's laughter and exclamations, that the two of them had suddenly, for reasons of their own making, decided to wrestle Boromir rather practice. But that seemed suddenly very unimportant to Lalaith.

"Legolas!" Lalaith called urgently over her shoulder.

He turned from his own perch, and darted across the hollow, to leap nimbly upon the rock beside hers, peering intently at the same black mass.

"That cannot be a mere cloud." She breathed, pointing.

"What is that?" Sam's voice echoed her own query in the common tongue.

"It's just a wisp of cloud." Gimli called out, his voice irritated.

Lalaith squinted at the mass, making out individual shapes now, black wings slapping at the air. "_Crebain_?" She asked Legolas quietly, who said nothing, but his eyes took on a look of alarm.

"It's moving fast." Boromir's voice answered from below. "And against the wind."

It _was_ a cloud of crows! Lalaith realized with sudden horror. Huge crows, Saruman's spies!

"Crebain, from Dunland!" Legolas shouted.

"Hide!" Came Aragorn's commanding voice from behind her.

In an instant, the rocky hollow erupted into a flurry of activity. Sam grabbed a pot of water, pouring it quickly over the fire to extinguish it, and packs were snatched up, as bodies darted under rocky overhangs or into the shelter of the undergrowth. Legolas snatched Lalaith's hand, and the two of them scampered down off the rocks, and into a tangle of brittle shrubs. The growth was sparse, and low along the earth, forcing them both down against the cold, rough ground.

"Legolas!" She gasped, struggling against his hold, and the stiff scratchy thorns of the underbrush. "Bill! We forgot about Bill!" She scrambled as if to rise and fight her way out of the tangled thorns, but Legolas' sturdy hands grabbed her shoulders firmly, and forced her back down.

"Sam will see to Bill, Lalaith!" He hissed in her ear, his voice pleading. "Stay down!"

And that moment, with maddening squawks, and the hissing of thousands of black, feathered wings churning and beating the air, the cloud of crows shot over them, circling round the now deserted hollow. Glancing up through the plaited branches, Lalaith could see their glistening black bodies, flash over head, whisking through the rocks as they circled once again, wheeled in the air, then turned back in the direction they'd come.

Legolas released his hold on Lalaith, breathing more easily, now that the loathsome black birds were gone.

"Are you hurt, Lalaith?" He asked, removing his arm from her shoulders, and rising to one elbow.

"No. You?" She gasped shaking her head and pushing away, so as to increase the distance between them. They were betrothed, _not_ married. She reminded herself sternly. And in spite of the rocks and thorns, and the vile crebain pounding the air overhead for those few frightening moments, having Legolas so near her, alone like this, was more exhilarating that she wanted to admit.

Lalaith shook her head to clear it as the two elves scrambled out from under the thorny foliage and dashed back up the rocks to join the others, emerging from their hiding places, and gathering around Gandalf.

"The passage south is being watched." Gandalf muttered in disgust. "We must take the pass of Caradhras."

He glanced up at the high, peak above them to the east, and everyone else followed his gaze. The mountain's name meant Red Horn, but now it was blanketed deeply in white snow. It was a tall and formidable mountain, pushing nearly straight up into the blue sky, and it was not surprising to hear groans of dismay coming from the hobbits. Lalaith glanced over at them pityingly. Merry and Pippin were looking up the mountain with grimaces painted on their faces. The journey over the mountains would be especially difficult for them, but still, if they could not take the south road, Caradhras was better than going through Moria.

"Here, Pippin." She offered, going to the youngest hobbit who was now struggling wearily to put on his pack. "Let me help you with that."

"Thanks." He returned, with less than his usual enthusiasm as she lifted the backpack onto his shoulders.

That one word alone, spoken so wearily, offered to remind Lalaith that the hobbits especially, were going to need as much help crossing over the mountain, as they could get.

* * *

"Lalaith, my dear." Gandalf, who was trudging at the front of the group, leading the weary line of them up the knife edge of a snow covered ridge, turned and motioned to her, beckoning her to forward, to his side.

Lalaith gave Legolas' hand a gentle squeeze before she released it, and jogged up past Bill and three of the hobbits through the snow to the old wizard's side. "What is it, Mithrandir?" She asked, as the he put a gnarled hand on her shoulder and continued to trek beside her up through the snow, and the cold, thinning air.

"How are you holding out?" He asked kindly, though his voice was tired.

"Better than the hobbits, I'm afraid." She sighed, gazing back at Sam's furry bare feet, covered in snow. She knew their feet were tough enough to go anywhere barefoot, but the sight still made her shiver. "What of you?"

"I'm not as young as I used to be." He sighed in consternation, and chuckled good naturedly. "But I do seem to have a little strength left in these old bones of mine."

Lalaith smiled.

"And what of the ring?" He asked quietly, his voice suddenly growing solemn. "You have not heard it again, have you? Has it said anything to you?"

She shook her head. "It has not so much as whispered a single word to me since the first time I heard its foul voice in Imladris."

"That _may_ be good." Gandalf nodded thoughtfully. "But then again, it could be because the ring has turned its focus elsewhere for a time." He looked at Lalaith, and his eyes grew gravely serious. "On _someone else_."

Lalaith instinctively glanced behind them, down to the end of the line where Frodo and the two humans were struggling upward. Boromir was trudging several paces ahead of Aragorn and Frodo, and appeared tired, struggling to breath in the cold, thinning air, and moving only slowly, one foot after the other, his heavy shield slung sloppily over his back. But poor Frodo, Lalaith cringed sympathetically, appeared completely drained. Frodo was clearly not used to being in such thin air. His head was hanging wearily, and his motions were of one who was terribly exhausted.

And suddenly, Lalaith caught a quick gasp, Frodo slipped, and fell backward, tumbling head over heels through the snow. But her brief fear was cut blessedly short as he was snatched in Aragorn's sturdy arms, and stopped. Lalaith breathed a quick breath of relief, as Aragorn set him on his feet, dusting the gathered snow from his shoulders. Frodo was unhurt, but there was still concern on his face when he tucked his hand inside his shirt, checking for the ring.

"It's not on him." Lalaith murmured at Frodo's expression, so that only Gandalf could hear. "It's fallen, somewhere there, in the snow."

Gandalf turned as well, his expression swiftly growing concerned.

Something glistened in the white broken snow their passing had disturbed, halfway between Aragorn and Frodo, and where Boromir had stopped to turn. The ring of gold, still on its chain, peeked up through the snow, blinking in the hard, cold light.

Lalaith froze as Boromir moved down, bent, and slowly lifted the chain from the snow, with the glittering ring dangling from it. "No, Boromir, give it back to Frodo." She whispered beneath her breath. "_Please_."

Boromir held it up to his eyes, completely entranced, seeing nothing for the moment, but the shining of the One Ring.

"Boromir?" Aragorn called from below, his hand on Frodo's shoulder. Frodo looked up at Boromir, waiting with fearful expectancy.

"'Tis a strange fate that we must suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing." Boromir murmured softly into the cold air, speaking to no one. "Such a little thing."

"Boromir!" Aragorn called out, forcefully this time. The sound of his name seemed to break Boromir of his trance, and he glanced down at Aragorn and the hobbit as if seeing them for the first time. "Give the ring to Frodo." Aragorn ordered firmly.

Slowly, Boromir approached them, the ring slowly extending in his hand

"As you wish." He answered carelessly, at last close enough for Frodo to reach up, and snatch the ring away. Lalaith released a breath once it was at last in Frodo's hand, not realizing until this moment, that she had been holding it in. "I care not." With that, he gave a small chuckle, mussed his hand through Frodo's curly dark hair, and turned away again.

Lalaith cast a somber glance at Gandalf to see a knowing look in his eyes. She shivered at more than the chill in the air, and said nothing more.

* * *

The sharp, driving wind, blowing shards of snow into their faces, gave the Fellowship no opportunity to talk as they struggled along a narrow, snowy ledge, through the deep, nearly shoulder high snow.

Legolas, light on his feet, was able to walk over the top of the snow without making more than a soft impression. But Lalaith, who had seen how far down the precipice plunged, was more comfortable down in the snowy trench with the others, than walking along the narrow ledge of the snow. She had Bill by the reigns, trying to coax the poor horse along, while the four hobbits, their cloaks pulled tightly about them, were slung in the humans' arms, their round little faces red with cold and misery. Gimli walked just ahead of Lalaith, his own face, what she could see of it beneath his beard, was red and raw as well, but he hid his discomfort as he march along, too proud, Lalaith guessed, to admit in front of elves that he was miserable. He was mumbling something beneath his breath, something about the roaring fires of Moria, roasted meat, and the generous hospitality of dwarves.

Lalaith shook her head to herself. Even now, she would rather be here, than in the lifeless pit of Moria, no matter what Gimli claimed.

Something whispered at her through the whipping, hissing wind, and Lalaith looked up, wondering at first, if someone had spoken to her. And then she heard it again. A cold chanting voice, and she straightened suddenly, frightened. Frodo was slung in Aragorn's arm, just in front of Gimli, and for a moment, she was certain that his ring was speaking to her again, because the voice was foul, and dark, and filled with hate. But no, she decided after a moment. It wasn't the same voice she remembered, though it was similar. It was coming from the distance, far away, and down off the mountain.

Her suspicion was confirmed, when Legolas, following behind her, suddenly scurried past her, over the narrow lip of snow to a ledge in front of Gandalf, and stopped there, craning forward into the lashing wind and the shards of ice driving into his face, and listening carefully.

"There is a foul voice on the air." He called back.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf shouted, just as a thunderous crash erupted above them, and overhanging rocks cracked away from the mountain's face, and came rushing and crashing down over their heads.

"Legolas!" Lalaith cried, and he skipped back against the side of the cliff just as a boulder cracked against the edge of their narrow shelf, where he had been standing a moment before, its impact shuddering through the stone beneath their feet, and tumbled, with all the other rubble, down into the precipice below them.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn shouted into the wind. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf returned, shooting Aragorn a withering look. With effort, he clambered up onto the very edge sheered clean of snow by the boulder that had almost crushed Legolas, and faced into the wind, his voice strong despite the fury of the wind, and spoke what Lalaith guessed was a counter spell against the forces that were set against them.

His chanting seemed to do little more than agitate the ire in the voice of Saruman, and a moment later, a fierce crack of lightning shattered the tortured, boiling sky overhead, smashing against the snowy crest of the mountain directly above them.

Lalaith's eyes shot upward, dreading what she would see as a torrent of snow came pouring straight down at them from the cliffs above. She was aware, barely, of Legolas darting out, to snatch Gandalf back against the cliff, just as the mass of snow poured down on them piling around her and over her, covering her in a dark, heavy blanket of ice, cold, bitter, suffocating. She fought to breath, but only ended up with a mouthful of bitter, dirty ice.

Where was Bill? She wondered, as she fought her way in the direction she believed to be up. He should have been right beside her. And where was _Legolas_? Her mind cried. Where were any of the others?

She heard her voice somewhere above her, shouting her name, "Lalaith!" It was Legolas' voice frightened and panicked, and she coughed and sucked in a fierce breath just as her arm broke through the surface of the avalanche, and pushed the snow away from her mouth. She glanced quickly around. "I'm here." She called to Legolas, several paces ahead of her, still fighting his way out of the snow. "We must get the others out."

She turned to her side as she felt a movement there, and hurriedly scooped the snow out and away from Bill's flaring nostrils, away from his face, and his large, frightened eyes. The poor pony had no idea what was happening to him, or why. She touched his soft, trembling nose to give him a moment of comfort, then turned to the other side, and plunged her hand down into the snow, finding the scruff of Gimli's neck, and pulled as he fought his way up, and out, grunting and groaning, and shouting curses at Mordor and Saruman as his thanks for her help. The others were, to her relief, breaking through as well, some with Legolas' help, and though everyone seemed shaken and stunned, miraculously, no one seemed seriously hurt.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir shouted to Gandalf, once he managed to find his breath again. "Make for the gap of Rohan, or take the west road to my city!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard." Aragorn argued in return.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it!" Gimli offered eagerly. "Let us go through the mines of Moria!"

Lalaith pursed her lips tightly at the look that took over Gandalf's face with the mention of the word. Gandalf was their leader, and from the look of trepidation on his countenance, he clearly did not wish to go through the dwarven mines of Moria any more than Lalaith. There was no chance they would be forced to go into those dark, endless tunnels.

At last, Gandalf opened his mouth, and with great reluctance, said, "Let the ringbearer decide."

Lalaith's eyes shot to Frodo, sheltered beneath Aragorn's arm. Frodo glanced helplessly at Sam beneath Aragorn's other arm, but Sam could give him no answers.

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir shouted again, his hands tightening around the shoulders of Merry and Pippin as they shivered violently beside him. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"

Lalaith glanced once again at Frodo. _No, Frodo. Not Moria._ She whispered in her mind. _Perhaps the Gap of Rohan is still open to us. Let us try for that. Not Moria._

But against her wishes, Frodo, shivering, answered, "We will go through the mines."

And the words sounded like a death knell on her heart.


	10. Chapter 9

**Lalaith Elerrina--Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 9**

**February 28, 2005**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 9

Lalaith disliked the look of the fissured, broken valley they were entering almost immediately when she saw it. The bitter, driving wind that had lashed Caradhras had died, but the overcast sky above them, slowly fading into the muted tones of twilight, was still a dirty, dingy gray, adding to the barren, lifeless look of the thick, misty terrain they were making their way across. The air was still cold, but there was no longer thick snow blanketing the ground, and the hobbits, wrapped in their little cloaks, Sam now leading Bill, could walk unaided. She managed to peel her eyes away from the three hobbits, who marched along bravely, but with weariness in their movements, and lift them up to a curious looking piece of workmanship, arching high over their heads, where what looked like what had once been an aqueduct, or a giant stone sluice of some kind from ancient days, pouring a steady fall of water down onto the rocks below, forming a dirty little river that trickled away into the mist, amidst the broken and cracked rocks.

She cast a glance at Legolas, whose face mirrored her own uncertainty at the path before them. His eye caught hers, and he managed a twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "None but Gimli likes this sight." He muttered beneath his breath.

Lalaith again glanced down at hobbits, trudging along, and at Aragorn who walked just ahead of them. He was not as weary as the hobbits, but Lalaith could tell that he was not eager to be here any more than the elves. But Gimli, walking just in front of Aragorn, was hopping and strutting eagerly along, as if he felt the company was not moving fast enough. Boromir walked just ahead of him, with Gandalf and Frodo only paces ahead.

"Frodo, come and help and old man." Lalaith heard Gandalf called out to the young hobbit who lingered a few steps behind him. Frodo hurried forward, taking part of Gandalf's weight onto his own shoulder.

"How's your shoulder?" Gandalf asked Frodo.

"Better than it was." Was Frodo's answer in return.

Lalaith tilted her head, pricking up her ears, but could still not hear the next question Gandalf asked of Frodo, though by the expression on his face, it seemed of utmost importance. The two of them had stopped walking, and Boromir had caught up with them, and passed them, and as he did, they both glanced up and studied him, somewhat suspiciously. Lalaith released a soft breath of air, guessing now, what the two were talking about.

"Whom, then, do I trust?" She heard Frodo whisper as she and Legolas drew closer, his small voice beseeching Gandalf.

"You must trust yourself." Gandalf murmured in return. "Trust in your own strength."

"What do you mean?" Pleaded Frodo.

"There are many powers in this world for good or evil." Gandalf answered. "Some are greater than I am. And against some, I have not yet been tested."

Legolas had heard the last part of their interchange as well, and cast a questioning glance at Lalaith. But she shook her head and gave him a helpless look, not knowing what Gandalf meant, any more than he.

With that, a sudden gasp of awe came from Gimli, and he pointed ahead, his face written with an expression of veneration. The mist had cleared for a moment, revealing a sheer cliff face of gray stone, ragged and furrowed with the ravages of time, wind and water. "The walls of Moria." He murmured reverently.

Lalaith drew in a breath. The air, still and dead, and as cold as it was, still managed to reeked of mold and age, and any plants or trees to be seen along the black acrid lake of water that pushed up, almost to the very walls of Moria, were either already dead or nearly so, with webs and mats of moss growing on them, sloping away into the unseen depths of the filthy lake.

Lalaith shuddered. Perhaps it was only because she was so used to the clear, clean, sweet smelling streams of Rivendell, but the very look of the water disturbed her. As if it was alive, alive and unfriendly.

"I do not like the look of that water." She whispered as they drew closer to the narrow ledge of land between the water and the cliff wall.

"Nor do I." Legolas returned. "It is as if the water were watching us." He squeezed her hand, pulling her closer to his side in a protective gesture, and said nothing more as the dingy twilight surrounding them slowly faded to the shadows of night.

* * *

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." Gimli piped up cheerfully, as they hiked along the narrow edge of rubble between the sheer cliff, and the black water, tapping the back of his ax against the hard stone wall, and tilting his head near, listening carefully.

"Ask Gimli." Added Gandalf, his own eyes carefully searching every crack and crevice of the wall for signs of a door. "Even their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas asked, with a sardonic look at Gimli.

Lalaith smirked and dropped her eyes to the broken rubble at their feet as Gimli growled and muttered inaudibly.

"_Oh_!" A frightened chirp, followed by a soft splash brought her head up sharply. Frodo, marching along the ledge of the water, had apparently slipped, and his foot had splashed momentarily into the water. Lalaith shuddered. Just the thought of touching that water made her skin crawl, and she started forward toward Frodo, half expected something horrible and unnamable, to reach out of the water and pull him by the ankle. But nothing happened. Frodo was unhurt, thankfully, as he scrambled away from the water's edge and continued on.

Ahead of them, Gandalf had stopped. He stood beneath the overarching boughs of one of the few living trees at the edge of the water, and was standing back, examining a portion of the cliff wall. There seemed nothing extraordinary about it, at first glance, but then Lalaith saw what Gandalf had seen as he stepped forward and ran his hand along what appeared to by a carved notch in the wall, curving upward.

"Ithildin," Gandalf murmured reverently. "It mirrors only starlight, and moonlight." Gandalf turned and glanced upward at the sky, where wisps of thinning clouds rolled from before the silver face of the moon, revealing its soft muted light onto their company, and the gray cliff before them. As the silver moonlight rested on the portion of wall Gandalf stood before, the carved notches, which had at first only appeared as mere chiselings from some mason's mallet, lit up and glowed like mithril. Lalaith's brows lifted, impressed.

Gandalf stepped back, and smiled, satisfied, before lifting his staff, and following the words over the top of the glowing frame. "It reads, `The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"

"What d'you s'pose that means?" Merry queried.

"Oh, it's quite simple." Gandalf explained readily. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."

Drawing in a breath, he stepped back, and lifted his staff, pressing the blunt end against a star shaped carving in the middle of the doors, just beneath the figure of a hammer and anvil, and spoke in powerful, commanding tones, "_Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen_!"

Lalaith leaned forward slightly, expectantly, but nothing happened. The doors remained as they were, the dark night silent, unchanging. The dark water behind them softly rippling against the rocks. She traded a silent glance with Legolas, then turned and glanced down at Pippin beside her who looked up, and gave her a shrug.

Gandalf grunted beneath his breath, but continued undaunted, "_Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen_!"

The doors remained closed, and silent, as before.

"Nothing's happening." Pippin murmured helpfully. Lalaith glanced down at him, and nudged him gently, hoping that would urge him into remaining silent. Gandalf did not seem in the mood now, for Pippin to be chorusing everything that was not going according to plan.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men, and Orcs." Gandalf muttered, his shoulders hunched tiredly, voice at last becoming frustrated.

"What're you going to do then?" Pippin chirped, clearly oblivious to Lalaith's hint.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrine Took!" Gandalf growled, turning and casting a scathing glare at the young hobbit. "And if that does not shatter, them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions," Gandalf drew in a breath, gathering what little patience he still possessed, and finished, "I will try to find the opening words."

Properly humbled, Pippin shut his mouth, and kept silent.

* * *

Lalaith sat wearily on an outreaching root of the tree that Legolas stood beneath, as Gandalf continued chanting spells in different tongues, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly. In frustrated desperation, he'd even tried to chant them backwards. But even that, had not worked.

A tight knot was beginning to grow painful in the back of her right shoulder, and Lalaith reached for it, kneading the muscle, but that did not seem to help the tense, throbbing pain. The ache only seemed to grow hotter, almost as if a brand were being seared into her very flesh.

"Lalaith, what is it?" Legolas asked quietly, drawing near, and dropping down on the root beside her.

"It is nothing." She gasped between clenched teeth with a shake of her head, her forehead furrowed at the pain. "The muscle in my shoulder is tight. That is all."

"It seems more than that, by the look on your face. Here, let me try." He offered, and edged closer. The fletchings of her arrows, and the handles of her knives thrust above her shoulder, right over the spot that hurt the most. But Legolas had no difficulty maneuvering his hand around them. As if by magic, the moment his fingers touched her shoulder, the burning pain and tension faded, cooled and relieved apparently, by the simple touch of his hand, now gently massaging the muscles beneath the cloth of her tunic.

"Oh, better." She breathed with a nod of surprised relief. A moment later, she had been sure, and she would have been crying in pain. "Much better."

"Already?" Legolas asked. His voice was threaded with regret as he drew his hand back.

Lalaith turned to look at him, perplexed to see disappointment etching his features. But then she smiled, understanding. "I didn't tell you to _stop_, Legolas." She smirked. "I only said it felt better." Legolas grinned, and his hand came back, gently kneading the now softened, relaxed muscle.

"Mmm." She murmured, closing her eyes, and resting her chin in her hand. "Thank you, Legolas."

"It is _my_ pleasure, my Lady." Legolas returned softly.

"Uh, my Lady."

These words were spoken in the Common Tongue, by a voice she had not expected to hear. Lalaith's eyes opened, and her gaze shot up to see Boromir standing above them. He had drawn closer as she and Legolas had been speaking, yet she had not noticed him until now. He was gazing down at the two of them, his brows pulling inward, in what looked to be an almost sad expression.

"What is it, Boromir?" She asked at last when his pause grew long.

"Uh," he thought for a moment, then as if remembering, stammered, "Bill would not do well inside the mines, and Sam has decided to send him home. I thought you might-," he gulped, his words strangely heavy and broken, "might want to see the pony off."

"Oh." Lalaith pulled away from Legolas, and rose to her feet. "I would. Thank you Boromir." She offered him a quick smile and he nodded, and smiled weakly in return as she scurried past him and along the ledge of rubble to where Aragorn and Sam stood, gently taking off Bill's packs and harnesses.

"The mines are no place for a pony." Aragorn was saying softly. "Even one so brave as Bill."

"Boromir said you were sending Bill home?" Lalaith asked softly as she reached the two.

Sam gulped and looked up at her sadly nodding of his head.

"He would not do well, inside those mines." Aragorn answered softly, with regret.

"Oh, Sam." Lalaith sighed, and squeezed his small shoulder gently. "It's for the best."

Lalaith stepped to the pony, and stroked his nose, warm, and velvet soft. She would miss this brave, faithful pony.

"Bye bye, Bill." Sam said with a choke in his voice, as she stepped back.

"Go on, Bill. Go on." Aragorn said with a gentle pat on Bill's rump, sending him clomping back the way they'd come. "Don't worry, Sam. He knows the way home."

Lalaith missed Bill already, but she was almost happy, for the pony's sake, that he was leaving this cold, frightening place. Gandalf did not seem to know a way through the stone doors, and the night was growing darker as they waited. The silence was stifling, frightening in itself, and when a loud splash rocked the water of the dark lake, Lalaith jerked, and almost shrieked in fear. Pippin had thrown a rock into the water, she discerned immediately. He and Merry had grown bored of waiting, and were looking for ways to entertain themselves, gathering up rocks along the broken shoreline. Another splash, this time a rock flung by Merry, caused ripples even farther out in the water.

Again, Pippin lifted an arm to throw a third rock, and was caught, in mid swing, by Aragorn, who had rushed forward past Sam and Lalaith, to grab his arm.

"Do not disturb the water." He hissed into Pippin's confused face.

Lalaith narrowed her eyes. So she was not the only one with an unfounded fear of that dark, dirty lake. Knowing now how even Aragorn feared that water, she felt a sudden need to return to Legolas, and she did so quickly, scampering past their other companions, and joining him beneath the tree, finding comfort in his closeness, and his welcoming smile.

"Bill has gone?" He asked softly, reaching for and taking her hand up into his own.

"I almost envy him." She nodded wistfully, but then smiled. "But not really. If I were in his place, I would be leaving you, and I do not want to do that."

Legolas smiled, his thumb running slowly over her fingers. "What of your shoulder?"

"The pain is entirely gone, strangely enough. A few minutes ago, it was throbbing, as if there was a fire in my very muscle." Lalaith shook her head, confused. "But the moment you touched it, the pain went away."

Legolas looked thoughtful. "Has this ever happened before?"

Lalaith looked up into his eyes as they searched hers intently. "Not this intensely." She furrowed her brow. In Loth Lorien, two hundred years before, in their battle with the orcs, she remembered feeling a slight twinge in the same shoulder. But the pain was so much more intense now, that there could be no comparing.

"Oh, gracious." Gandalf muttered, flinging his staff to the ground, and pulling his pointed hat from his head as he flopped in frustration onto a rock beneath their tree.

Aragorn and Boromir were gazing out over the dark water, with concern on their faces, and Merry and Pippin were squinting out into the darkness as well. There was something out there, that, with their mortal eyes, they could not quite see. Lalaith almost turned to follow their gaze, but then Frodo spoke.

"It's a riddle." He said suddenly, and with confidence. "`Speak, friend, and enter.'" He glanced hopefully at Gandalf. "What's the elvish word for friend?"

Gandalf glanced up, his face mirroring sudden inspiration. "_Mellon_."

At that single word, a low grumble came from the doors, and a stony scrape echoed about them as the double doors of Moria scraped open, revealing a dark, empty void.

Though Gimli leaped up, snatched up his walking ax, and strutted eagerly forward toward the darkness, Lalaith was less sure, and gazed deep into the blackness beyond the doors. Gandalf however, started in willingly, fixing a clear, shiny stone to the end of his staff, and this, at least, gave her a measure of confidence. With Legolas' hand in hers, the two elves hopped down from the tree's roots, and started in. Aragorn and Boromir kept glancing backward, but Lalaith kept her eyes ahead, more concerned about what might lie ahead of them in the darkness, than in what they were leaving behind outside.

"Soon, my elf friends," Gimli chortled, poking Lalaith playfully in the arm with the blunt edge of his ax, "you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone!"

Lalaith barely heard him. Something didn't smell right here, but even her elven eyes could see little in this darkness. Gandalf a few steps away, blew gently on the clear stone set into his staff, and it flared to life, a soft, almost star-like light, that lit the room around them, and to Lalaith's sudden, sick horror, illuminated scores of rotten bodies, bodies of dwarves, armor and wisps of beard still clinging to blackened, rotten skeletons, some still clutching weapons, their ruined bodies frozen in their last futile efforts to defend themselves against whatever it was that had murdered them. Arrows protruded from their frozen, tortured corpses, and here and there, massive black axes, not of dwarven make, were still struck grotesquely through cracked and shattered breastplates, and helmets.

"This, my friends, is the home of my cousin, Balin." Gimli continued gleefully, and Lalaith turned to stare at him blankly, numbly realizing that he had not yet noticed the carnage that surrounded them. "And they call it a mine. A _mine_!"

"This is no mine." Boromir managed to mutter, his voice, muted and sickened. "It's a tomb."

Behind her, she heard a muffled clatter, and soft, frightened gasps coming from the hobbits. The four of them, clinging in a bunch, had nearly tripped over a corpse.

Gimli, at last seeing the bodies, released a muffled cry. He darted to the nearest body, and knelt over it, as if futilely demanding his senses to deny what they were seeing. "_Noooo_!" He howled, his voice pathetic, and enraged at once.

Legolas darted from her side, and knelt over a corpse, yanking out the arrow that had killed it, and staring hard at the design of the arrowhead. "Goblins." He hissed, and flung the arrow away with a clatter.

Lalaith's eyes shot to the stairs at the end of the entry hall as she snatched an arrow from her quiver, and fitted it to her bowstring, pulling it taut as Legolas and Aragorn did with their own bows, while Boromir drew his sword forth, with a soft metallic hiss that sounded odd and loud to her adrenaline heightened senses. Lalaith waited, fully expecting to see the dark hunched bodies she so well remembered from two centuries past, come lunging down the steps from the unseen heights above, but nothing came. Nothing stirred in the darkness.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan." Boromir snarled to the others. "We should never have come here." No voice sounded in disagreement, and as one, everyone began backing slowly toward the yet open doorway. "Now, get out of here." Boromir ordered. "Get out!"

A movement behind her, near the door, followed by a startled, fearful gasp coming from Frodo, barely caught her attention, her senses fixed on the darkness before them. The three other hobbits, however, turned to rush out the door, splashing down into the water.

"Strider!" Sam shouted toward the door at Aragorn, at last alerting Lalaith that something dangerously wrong was going on behind her, and she and the others turned their focus away from the inky darkness of Moria, to the muted moonlit night outside the door.

Sam was whacking at something that had pulled Frodo down on his back and partway down into the water, something snake-like, that had Frodo by the leg as Merry and Pippin were grasping Frodo each by an arm, hauling him desperately back toward the shore. The thing half severed at the end by Sam's blade, released Frodo's leg then, and as it retreated back into the depths of the murky water, Lalaith's mind struggling to grasp this new horror, at last understood that the thing was a _tentacle_. A long, sickly-gray tentacle, belonging to some deep water creature that rarely saw light. _A watcher_, Lalaith's mind whispered. She'd heard myths of such creatures, but never until now, had she seen one, or even quite believed that such creatures existed. The tentacle, with grasping finger-like protrusions on the end that hung broken and limp now, thanks to the work of Sam's little sword, disappeared into the depths of the water, but Lalaith had scarcely drawn a breath, before the water erupted with countless more tentacles, that lunged onto the shore, slapping Sam and the other hobbits but Frodo to the stony ground, as one tentacle snatched his ankle, lifting the poor hobbit, thrashing and screaming, high into the air, and out over the black water. Several other tentacles rose and snaked around Frodo, slapping at him, and jabbing him, as if searching for something.

_Can it be, that the creature on the end of all these tentacles somehow knows Frodo has the ring, and wants it as well?_ Lalaith wondered, drawing her arrow, already nocked to her string, back to her cheek, and letting it fly. Her arrow struck the tentacle holding Frodo clear through, and another arrow, released from Legolas' bow, followed a moment later, striking just above the spot where Lalaith's arrow had hit. The wounded tentacle faltered, but their elven arrows did little more to hinder the determination of whatever massive creature was on the other end of all these tentacles.

Aragorn and Boromir had rushed out into the knee deep water as Lalaith and Legolas had fired their arrows, right into the midst of the thrashing forest of tentacles, chopping at them, as if at the trunks of trees, severing each one clean through with a single slice of their swords, followed by a massive splash as the dead, severed tentacles flopped lifelessly back into the water.

The water beneath the tentacles boiled then, angrily, as if the water had suddenly become superheated, and a massive head emerged from the depths of the ink black water, a wet, slimy, vile looking head, with black, evil looking eyes, and tentacles protruding from it at all angles. Massive jaws gaped open, large enough to swallow the little hobbit whole, lined with rows of vicious, flesh tearing teeth. Undaunted, Boromir and Aragorn, thoroughly soaked now, thrashed through thigh deep water, and Boromir chopped through another tentacle, cleaning felling it into the water with a splash as Aragorn swung his sword through another one, the tentacle that held Frodo by the ankle, and at last the terrified little hobbit fell shrieking, tumbling through the air, to land into Boromir's arms.

"Into the mines!" Gandalf ordered, as the two humans struggled to escape the churning water, and the thrashing tentacles that lashed angrily at them, trying to get at the hobbit again.

"Legolas!" Boromir cried. "Lalaith!"

Lalaith drew back another arrow, aimed, and released it, the arrow flying past the heads of the humans, through the creature's swinging tentacles, and straight into one of the creature's eyes in the same moment that Legolas' arrow hit it in the other eye, eliciting an unearthly howl of rage and pain.

"Into the cave!" Aragorn shouted, as he and Boromir, still with Frodo, scrambled up onto the bank.

"Come on!" Boromir ordered the hobbits, who had been standing back, gaping, horrified at the sight before them. He dropped Frodo to his feet, who hit the ground, his feet already running run back into the dark recesses of the mine.

Everyone, for the moment, was accounted for, and Lalaith, only all to willing to face the darkness of Moria now, rather than the ire of the angry beast, turned and sprinted with the others through the stone doors of Moria, and into the darkness.

The creature's tentacles snaked in behind them, wrapping onto the doors, and the cracked, ragged stone of the cliff, bodily hauling itself up out of the water, ripping at the stone in an effort to get at Frodo once again. Its strength and anger was such that it ripped the doors away from the cliff face, tearing rocks and boulders down onto its head in a deafening, thunderous crash. Moonlight flashed in and out between falling rocks, as Lalaith and the others turned to watch in dismay as boulders crashed down behind them, crushing corpses, and even the watcher itself now, snuffing the last of the moonlight and completely blocking their way back out as boulders and rocks clattered, at last to a rest, leaving them nothing but silent blackness, and air filled with thick dust.

"Lalaith?" Two worried voices from different directions came at her at the same time, and Lalaith, gasping, struggled to answer both Legolas and Boromir who had spoken her name at once.

"I am here. I am not hurt." She gasped, coughing on dust. "What of everyone else? Frodo?"

"Yes, I am here, too." Came Frodo's breathless voice from the darkness.

"Me, too." Answered the other three hobbits, with gasping voices that shook as they spoke.

"Gandalf? Aragorn?" Lalaith asked, fearful of the ensuing silence.

"I'm here." Aragorn's voice came from the void, answering her query.

"Here I am, my dear. Don't worry." From the sound of Gandalf's voice, he was sitting down perhaps on a nearby rock, still fighting for breath.

"Oh, don't bother asking about me." Gimli's voice came out of the darkness near her. In spite of his initial shock and horror at the discovery of the bodies, and the ensuing fight with the watcher, he seemed to have regained much of his former composure. "Don't worry about the _dwarf_, now."

"Are you hurt at all, Gimli?" She asked, ignoring the underlying growl in his voice.

"I'm fine." He reluctantly grumbled in answer.

A thump on the stone floor came from the direction of Gandalf's voice and the stone in his staff ignited, shedding light on the room in which they stood, now littered with tumbled rocks as dust particles flickered through the air. The end where the doors had once stood was now completely blocked by broken and cracked boulders.

"We have but one choice." Gandalf murmured. He had risen to his feet, and walked through the center of the bedraggled, dust covered group. "We must face the long dark of Moria." Lalaith tightened her jaw at the tones of his voice as he said this, her eyes fixed on his face. "Be on your guard. There are older, and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

Lalaith and Legolas traded a glance as he said this, Legolas' eyes filled with concern as he reached for, and took her hand, once again, into his own as the group started after Gandalf, up the long, dark steps, littered here and there with a dwarven corpse. Lalaith glanced over her shoulder at the hobbits, and at Gimli, noting that Frodo, and the two humans at the back of the group, were still drenched, their hair and clothing still dripping with water. Her eyes found Boromir's for a moment, and she offered him an encouraging smile, but he only shook his head lightly, and glanced away. Lalaith's smile fell, and she turned away from Boromir, to face forward and upward, up the steps in the direction where Gandalf was leading them.

"Quietly now." Gandalf continued, his voice hushed. "It's a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope our presence may go unnoticed."

Lalaith sighed, and shrank closer to Legolas' side at Gandalf's words, feeling exhausted already. In response, Legolas released her hand, and his arm went around her waist as he pressed a soft kiss to her brow, lending her strength. Behind her, a quiet, almost inaudible groan came from Boromir's throat, but Lalaith, her senses filled with nothing but the feel and scent of Legolas, scarcely heard.


	11. Chapter 10

**Lalaith Elerrina--Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 10**

**March 9, 2005**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 10

Lalaith gazed up the steep staircase they were ascending, its heights disappearing into the unknown darkness above them where the light of Gandalf's staff, and the flickering  
blaze of a torch Aragorn carried, found among the bodies of the dwarves, could not reach. Though it had been three days, Lalaith still had not overcome her revulsion at seeing the twisted remains of the dwarves who had once inhabited Moria. She had never harbored any benevolent feelings for Gimli's race, but for these to have been murdered the way they had, cut down seemingly with little warning, she could not help but feel angry, and sad. No one deserved to die this way.

No matter where she looked, it seemed, there was a dwarf skeleton, still dressed in rusted armor, often still holding a weapon in a bony fist. _Where had the orcs, the goblins come from so suddenly, that all these dwarves had been caught unawares, and so quickly wiped out?_ She wondered to herself. _And had it been only orcs? Was there something even more dangerous than those foul creatures, lurking in the shadows of these silent mines, mines that had once been thriving and noisy with busy little dwarves mining their precious mithril?_

Behind her, she heard a soft clatter, and she turned quickly, but it was only Pippin and Merry, struggling up the steep staircase, clambering on their hands and knees.

"Pippin!" Merry hissed.

Pippin's foot had slipped momentarily, but Merry had steadied him, and he was fine, now. Pippin even glanced up and waved at her cheerily. She returned his smile, and surveyed the others. Maneuvering up these steep stairs was not as easy for the others, as it was for herself and Legolas.

Aragorn caught her eye, and offered her a slight smile and nod, but when her eyes found Boromir's he only grimaced sadly, and glanced downward at the steps. There was something that was troubling him. He had barely spoken to her these last few days, or even looked at her. Perhaps it was only the mood Moria brought on. Lalaith thought, hopefully. Perhaps once they were out the other side, he would feel better. She hoped _she_ would. Being in these endless caverns, without the scent of clear air, of growing things, of flowers and trees, Lalaith was beginning to feel despondent, less hopeful than she usually was. She was even beginning to wonder if the memory of daylight, of trees and waterfalls, and the soft glow of the moon at night, were only memories from a dream. If these dark tunnels of Moria were the only true reality. Were it not for Legolas, her reminder of things as they were in the outside world, she may have begun to truly believe such memories were only dreams.

Above them, Gandalf had stopped, gazing on a scene that Lalaith had not yet come level with. She and Legolas drew to the tops of the steps moments later, to a short level ledge where the stairs grew less steep, and curved around to the left, rising up to a landing where three doorways stood, each one like the other. Gandalf was leaning tiredly on his staff, his countenance troubled, studying each door in its turn. So far, he had known his way unerringly, but suddenly, he seemed less sure.

As Lalaith and Legolas drew to his shoulder, and the others clambered tiredly to the tops of the steps, Gandalf, without turning, murmured reluctantly, "I have no memory of this place."

"Ooh." Pippin muttered, folding his arms, and rocking back on his heels. "What do we do, then?"

Lalaith nudged the hobbit sharply, fearing that Gandalf might not be patient with Pippin's question, but Gandalf did not grow angry. Rather, he simply turned, and with a tired lift of his eyebrows, he said resignedly, "Rest, and wait. That is all we _can_ do, for now."

* * *

Lalaith sat with her back against a cold rock, her arms folded across her knees, her eyes closed, her head resting wearily on her arms.

The hobbits sat by themselves, smoking their little pipes, and talking in low tones, except for Frodo, who sat a little way off, apparently deep in thought. Gimli sat by himself in a corner as well, not speaking, keeping to himself and to his own somber feelings. Gandalf sat above them all, on a rock facing the three doors, puffing on his pipe, his mind in deep pondering. Aragorn and Boromir sat together, Aragorn puffing thoughtfully on his own pipe, facing away from the two elves. But Boromir beside him, was partly turned, sometimes watching the elves with a sad glaze to his eyes, sometimes gazing off into the dark nothingness of Moria beyond the cast of their lights.

Lalaith's senses, though, barely registered anyone else but Legolas who leaned close, his hand gently massaging her shoulder, as had become his habit whenever they rested, since entering Moria. She had felt no pain there since they had come into the mines, but his touch was so gentle, so comforting, that Lalaith did not have the heart to tell Legolas this. Nor, by the contented look on his face, did Legolas want to know.

"Are we lost?" Pippin murmured from a corner. Her eyes opened and focused on the little hobbit.

"No." Merry's voice returned.

"I think we are." Pippin answered.

"Gandalf's thinking." Merry assured him.

"Merry?" Pippin asked.

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

"Are you listening to the hobbits?" Lalaith asked with a smile, as she looked up into Legolas' face.

Legolas nodded, and smiled softly. "They add color to our Fellowship. And they make you laugh. For that, I am indebted to them."

She smiled, feeling a glimmer of encouragement at his words, and leaned closer, turning her face into his shoulder, inhaling the warm, musky, masculine scent of him. "You smell like the trees of Mirkwood." She sighed. "You make their memory real, and I remember they're not just a dream."

"And you smell like the flowers of Imladris in the spring." Legolas answered, planting a kiss on the crown of her head.

"_Ai_," she sighed. "Spring. As long as I can remember, you have always made a garland for my hair with the first spring flowers of Imladris." She lifted her head and smiled sadly up at him. "Had we not come with the Fellowship, we would have married in the spring."

"And we will, still." He vowed. "Do not doubt it." He smiled, though his eyes were serious.

"It is difficult, Legolas, to not doubt everything I once was so sure of, here in this dark, lifeless pit, on this dangerous quest." Lalaith's eyes were shimmering with tears now, and she blinked them hard to keep Legolas in focus. "I wish Isildur had destroyed the ring when he had the chance." She whispered. "I wish none of this had happened."

"So do we all." Legolas said. He wanted to say more, but could think of nothing to say. Instead, he pressed his cheek against her hair, and closed his eyes, once again breathing in the sweet scent of her. Indeed, she smelled of lilacs, lilacs and roses, and all the sweet things of the gardens of Imladris, that he remembered.

Lalaith sighed, and propped her chin into her hands, brushing tears from her cheek as Legolas continued to rub her shoulder gently. From this angle, she could see the two humans. Aragorn's back was turned to them, still puffing slowly on his pipe. Surely he had heard and understood every word spoken between the two elves, but he made no sign that he had. That was his way. As for Boromir, he did not understand elvish.

Lalaith glanced at Boromir, whose eyes, were turned, for the moment on her. His gaze seemed sad, hopeless, and-, Lalaith narrowed her eyes, was there a hint of envy in his gaze? But Boromir gulped swiftly, and glanced away before she could decide.

"There's something down there." The voice came from Frodo, higher up the steps, standing near Gandalf now. His voice was a whisper, and perhaps meant to be kept hushed. But Lalaith's keen ears heard him anyway. Lalaith lifted her head, forgetting Boromir. Frodo's voice was filled with alarm, and she traded a concerned glance with Legolas. Were orcs-?

"It's Gollum." Gandalf answered Frodo calmly. He barely turned his head. "He's been following us for three days."

Lalaith knew of Gollum, as did Legolas. The creature who had once had the ring in his possession before Bilbo, Frodo's uncle, found it in the tunnels of the Misty Mountains, and took it to the Shire.

"Gollum is here?" She asked Legolas, surprised that her elven senses had not detected the creature before now. Legolas shook his head, indicating his own bafflement. He had not known of Gollum's presence either.

"Gollum?" Frodo repeated. "He escaped the dungeons of Barad-dûr?"

"Escaped?" Gandalf asked, turning to look the young hobbit in the face. "Or was set loose? And now the ring has brought him here. He will never be rid of his need for it."

Gandalf sighed grudgingly. "He hates and loves the ring, as he hates and loves himself. Smeagol's life is a sad story." He stopped at Frodo's questioning expression. "Yes, Smeagol, he was once called. Before the ring found him. Before it drove him mad."

Lalaith knew this story as well. Smeagol, and Deagol, his cousin who found the ring in the waters of the Anduin. Smeagol had killed Deagol for the possession of it, and lost himself entirely to the ring's control.

"It is a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance." Frodo hissed vindictively, glancing behind him.

"Pity?" Asked Gandalf in mild surprise. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death. And some that die, deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo?" Gandalf paused as he allowed the hobbit to absorb the question posed to him. "Do not be too eager to deal out death and judgment." Gandalf murmured gently. "Even the very wise cannot see all ends." He sighed thoughtfully. "My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before this is over. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."

"I wish the ring had never come to me." Frodo sighed unhappily as he sank down on the rock beside Gandalf. "I wish none of this had happened." His thoughts echoed Lalaith's from moments before.

"So do all who live to see such times." Gandalf said kindly. "But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide, is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the ring. In which case, you also were _meant_ to have it. And that is an encouraging thought."

"Indeed, it is." Legolas murmured near Lalaith's ear. "And we two are meant to be here, to help Frodo on his way to Mordor." Lalaith turned to look at him, and he smiled. "And there is your own journey, Lalaith, to make. As you told me, the night before we left Imladris. To confront your past. To defeat the fear that haunts the deeps of your memory. Whatever it is, I will be beside you, to the end of it."

"What did I ever do, to earn such devotion from you, Legolas?" She asked quietly at last. She had not meant for her voice to sound so sad, but it did.

Legolas' eyes probed hers deeply, as he moved his hand from her shoulder to her face, and touched her cheek gently with his fingertips. "I could not name any one thing, beloved." He murmured gently. "Perhaps, thousands, millions of little things you've done, for as long as I've known you."

"Ah!" Gandalf's voice echoed cheerfully, bringing everyone's head up. "It's that way!" He exclaimed, nodding to the door on the left.

"He's remembered!" Merry exclaimed, popping his pipe out of his mouth, and jumping to his feet.

"No." Gandalf explained as Legolas rose to his feet, drawing Lalaith gently up after him. Everyone else scrambled to their feet as well, and followed Gandalf as he took up his staff in his hand, and shuffled into the shadows of the tunnel. "But the air doesn't smell so foul down here." He leaned over Merry, and placed a hand on his little shoulder. "If in doubt, Meriadoc," he said with a smile, "always follow your nose."

* * *

The tunnel beyond the doorway Gandalf had chosen, led down a long dark stairwell, curving around in the darkness, showing nothing beyond the curve of the chiseled stone walls that forever curved downward, glimmering mutely in the light of Gandalf's staff, and Aragorn's torch.

Just when Lalaith was beginning to believe that the stairs would go forever downward, the light of Gandalf's staff glimmered off of a doorway ahead, and the steps leveled out, leading out this new door, and onto a stone landing, where the steps, edged with the broken remains of vast pillars, turned to their right, and descended to a flat, level place that stretched away into the darkness, in all directions, lined with what appeared to be long, even rows of pillars, reaching up into the murky darkness above their heads.

"Let me risk a little more light." Gandalf murmured softly as the group reached the bottom of the steps. And the stone in his staff glowed ever brighter, illuminating a vast portion of the pillared chamber in which they now found themselves. "Behold," Gandalf said quietly, but with power, "the great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf."

With the increased light of Gandalf's staff, Lalaith could clearly see the intricate carvings on the pillars, and the vast pillars themselves, stretching up to an arching ceiling high above her head, cracked and fissured now, but still showing the care and detail, and the pride with which the dwarves had once carved them. Even with Gandalf's staff casting a brighter glow, it did not show them what the darkness continued to hide in the distance, the rows of pillars stretching on into the fading shadows, away from the light. Her mouth opened into a small, silent circle, impressed with the vastness of the work, and the skill of the Dwarves.

"There's an eye opener, and no mistake." Sam murmured, speaking the thoughts the rest of them had not uttered.

Lalaith took a quick glance at Gimli as the company began moving once again. The dwarf was gazing upward, with reverence in his expression. His eyes were a little shinier than they usually were, and she wondered what the dwarf was thinking. Had he been here in times now past when it was lit with the bright fires he'd so lovingly described before? Had he seen Dwarrowdelf in its glory? Surely he had, for he'd mentioned that his cousin lived here.

_Poor Gimli_. Lalaith could not help but think. And now this cousin Gimli had mentioned, Balin, his name was, had surely fallen too, will all the others she had seen.

The Fellowship continued on in silence for a space of time. The light from the torch and Gandalf's staff stretched before them and behind them, each pillar beginning to look the same as the one before. But Gandalf seemed to know his direction, and Lalaith took comfort in that.

"Huh!" Gimli grunted suddenly. And without warning, darted away from the group toward a set of open wooden doors in the nearby wall, the wood cracked and broken as if with axes, and blistering with goblin arrows.

"Gimli!" Gandalf ordered, but Gimli gave no sign that he had heard as he rushed through the doorway into a smaller chamber. Gandalf and the others had little choice but to follow, as Gimli faltered before what appeared to be a stone sarcophagus lit with what seemed to be real sunlight coming in from a window high in the wall, no larger than a hobbit's hand width. The room, just as all the hallways and tunnels they had passed through so far, was littered with the decayed bodies of dwarves.

"No!" Gimli groaned, dropping to his knees before the stone coffin as Gandalf and the others gathered near. Lalaith sighed softly. She had never learned to read dwarven characters, but she could guess what the chiseled words in the top of the square stone box told Gimli, whose voice was thick with grief. "Oh, no!" He moaned. "No."

"'Here lies Balin, Son of Fundin.'" Gandalf read slowly and with reluctant finality. "'Lord of Moria.' He is dead then." Gandalf took off his hat with a low sigh. "It is as I feared."

Gandalf turned to the side, handing his hat and staff to Pippin who stood near him, to bend over a skeleton seated against the side of the coffin, bits of gray beard still clinging to the bones of its face like traces of spider web, a massive, thick paged book still sheltered in its fleshless fingers. Gently moving the lifeless hand aside, Gandalf picked up the book, and lifted it in his hands, gingerly opening it, and softly blowing dust from its pages.

"We must move on." Legolas hissed to Aragorn at his other shoulder. His fingers wove through Lalaith's and tightened protectively. "We cannot linger."

Aragorn turned and nodded slightly, but said nothing.

"'They have taken the bridge and the second hall.'" Gandalf had turned to the last pages of the book, and was reading now, his voice low and somber. Boromir stepped forward past Lalaith, his arm softly brushing her shoulder as he did, to place a comforting hand gently on Gimli's stooped shoulder. Poor Gimli. Lalaith sighed raggedly again. He was certainly not her favorite, but it pained her to see him suffering as he was. "'We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums. Drums in the deep.'" Gandalf paused here and turned a page, the air of the room heavy with silence, and bated breath. He read slowly, and with deliberation. "'We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out.'" Gandalf read the last words with great heaviness in his voice. "`They are coming.'"

A sudden clatter from the corner beyond Gandalf brought his head sharply around. Lalaith gasped, and her eyes shot to Pippin, who stood near the lip of a well where another dwarf skeleton was propped. He had staggered back away from it, and was staring guiltily at the carcass, now headless, an arrow buried its chest. The hobbit, every curious, must have somehow touched the precariously balanced corpse, and had sent the skull tumbling down into the depths of the well behind it. No sooner had Lalaith's mind register this than the rest of the body slipped and tumbled with a noisome crash, backward down into the black depths, pulling along with it, a long metal chain that rattled vehemently as it fell, dragging last of all, a cracked wooden chest, now empty, that banged incessantly at the stone walls of the well as it bounced back and forth downward through the shaft, the noise increasing and echoing, booming through the air about them, and even through the stones beneath their feet before the noise clattered away in the depths of the well, and finally, after endless seconds of echoes, died away.

Lalaith drew in a long breath, and slowly released it, dropping her eyes to the ground in a gesture of helplessness.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snapped angrily at Pippin who gulped. His little hobbit face was filled with shame. "Throw _yourself_ in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!"

Gandalf roughly snatched back his hat and staff, as if yanking them from the grasp of some unworthy creature. He turned away as Pippin glanced downward, pathetically unhappily. But in that instant when they all heard it, Gandalf turned back, and stared fearfully at the black mouthed well behind Pippin. Lalaith could still hear it too, the echo, vibrating through all the stones of Moria, causing the blood in her veins to turn to ice.

The distant, rolling boom from a drum.


	12. Chapter 11

**Lalaith Elerrina--Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 11**

**March 26, 2005**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

It was not the last drum beat. Another followed, rolling through Moria as ominous with foreboding as the first.

Distant, high pitched screeching followed, echoing through the unnumbered caverns of Moria, accompanied by the increasing throbbing of now, many drums. Lalaith remembered those screams. The war cries of orcs on the trail for blood. Her eyes shot around the room, wondering where the noises were coming from, seeming to be booming from the very stones themselves.

"Frodo!" Sam gasped, and Frodo looked down at Sting, the short sword at his hip, and drew it partway out, to see it glowing blue.

"_It glows blue when orcs are nearby_." Lalaith remembered Bilbo saying once in Imladris, when he had proudly shown her his treasures, a hobbit sized shirt of Mithril rings, and the little sword, Sting. At the time, Lalaith had thought it no more than a clever trick. But now, the blue shine of the metal glowed like a warning beacon.

High, warbling shrieking came echoing at them, sounding closer.

"_Yrch_!" she hissed, shooting a glance at Legolas. There was a glimmer of fear in his eyes, but there was determination there, too, and the sinews of his jaw were set and hard.

Boromir ran to the wooden doors and peered out. "Boromir!" Lalaith protested, wondering at his foolishness, but could not grudge him for his bravery. He jerked back just as two black arrows slammed into the wood, scant inches from his face.

"Get back!" Aragorn shouted to the hobbits as he tossed his torch into a corner. "Stay close to Gandalf!" Aragorn rushed to the door, to help Boromir push the stubborn doors shut, their heavy wood dragging slowly over the stone floor as they did.

Once the doors were shut, Boromir gestured outward, announcing breathlessly, but with derisive calm, "They have a cave troll."

Legolas snatched a heavy dwarf ax off of the floor, and pitched it to Boromir. Lalaith followed suit, tossing it again to Boromir who caught it deftly, and jammed it along with the one he had caught from Legolas into the joists of the door wedging it shut.

"Lalaith, go back with Gandalf and the hobbits." Legolas ordered, drawing an arrow and fitting it to his string as he and the humans backed toward the sarcophagus.

"Why?" She asked in dismay as she drew her own arrow, and placed it against her bow's string. She felt a twinge in the back of her shoulder, but ignored it. "I have not come on this quest to be coddled and treated like an infant."

"Do as he says, my Lady." Boromir said from her other side, his sword in his hand, his shield held at the ready.

Lalaith glared back and forth between Legolas and Boromir, furious. "_No_." She barked, flatly refusing.

"Aragorn, tell her." Legolas demanded.

Aragorn, his own bow in hand, shot a quick look at Legolas, then at Lalaith's determined face. "We need another bow arm." He said evenly, ending the argument.

Behind them, Gandalf tossed his hat aside, and drew forth his sword with a determined growl. The hobbits, with fearful, yet stalwart faces, drew their own little weapons, Sting glowing bright blue, in Frodo's hands.

"Let them come!" Gimli growled hopping atop his cousin's coffin as heavy, steady pounding began from the other side of the door, echoing the pounding in Lalaith's heart. Though she was hesitant to admit it to herself, the valor of the audacious little bearded dwarf gave her courage, and Lalaith found herself feeling a measure of comfort to know that the ax wielding dwarf was at her back. "There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

The wood began to crack as Gimli spoke, the blades of axes, black and wicked looking, began to pierce through. Legolas had accepted Aragorn's decree with silence, but he did indulge himself one worried glance at her, which she returned tersely before they both focus determinedly on the splintering doors. Lalaith watched carefully for an opening large enough for her arrow to pierce, and when one of the vicious black axes cracked through, and pulled back, leaving enough space for her arrow to pierce, she released her arrow. It flew only a fraction of an instant before Legolas' own arrow, and the two elven arrows flew through the same opening, both striking something in rapid succession. The unseen thing gave off an unearthly shriek and fell back. Aragorn's arrow flew a second later, through another crack, and another creature screamed and faltered. But the arrows were not enough, and a moment later, the doors shattered inward as a horde of charcoal black orcs, with fierce, pig like faces, shrieking and snorting like a herd of wild boars, poured into the room. Lalaith, forcing panic down, released another arrow at the foremost orc, striking the foul creature in the throat. Legolas and Aragorn's arrows follow, striking two more orcs, but this hardly slowed the tide of incoming orcs as three more leaped over the dead bodies of their companions.

Lalaith released one more arrow into the forehead of a particularly large creature with a head of black, oily hair and massive, sharpened teeth in its overly large mouth. Then in one swift motion, set her bow back in its place in her quiver, and drew her knives for close fighting as the orcs filled the room.

A deep cry bellowed from Gandalf's throat as he charged forward toward the orcs, and the hobbits, finding their courage from him, followed suit, crying out bravely as they dashed forward, brandishing their sharp little swords.

Lalaith was sharply aware of Legolas somewhere to her left, still firing arrows into orcs, as she battled the foul things nearest her, dodging their vicious blows, ducking and spinning away from them as they tried to swing their axes into her, then jabbing her knives into throats or abdomens, ignoring the feel of black blood, thick and oily as it spilled onto her hands. She was only vaguely aware of everyone else, Boromir, and Aragorn, using his sword now, and Gandalf, the hobbits bravely stabbing at the legs and stomachs of the orcs, their small size a momentary advantage for them from the orcs who had not expected to battle such small beings.

But when she finished off the orc nearest to her, giving her a momentary lull and an instant to catch her breath, she became aware of a new movement near the door. The last orc coming through, was holding a chain, pulling something along behind it. A tremendous crash shattered the top of the doorframe as a club, larger than a hobbit's body, smashed through, followed by a massive, drooling hunch backed thing with a squat, fat, horribly ugly face, which was throwing its head from side to side agitated, and angry. It must have surely been the troll Boromir mentioned, though Lalaith had never seen one before. Beyond Gimli, who was still standing on his cousin's tomb, downing orcs left and right as they came at him, she saw little Sam, who found himself unexpectedly in front of the massive monster, peering up at it, hesitant and frightened. An arrow, released from Legolas' bow, struck the troll in the left shoulder, agitating the monster all the more.

"Sam!" Lalaith cried, and moved as if to run to help him, but a group of five shrieking orcs came at her from her left, forcing her to turn and contend with them, leaving Sam to fend for himself. Fortunately, she saw him duck under the troll's legs just as the massive club came smashing down on the place where he had been standing. Aragorn and Boromir also, had seen Sam's plight, and had rushed in to help. But Lalaith could not help any of them as she set to the gruesome business of killing the orcs she dealt with now.

The two humans grabbed the abandoned chain attached to the troll's neck, and jerked the creature back, just as it was near to smashing Sam, cowering in a corner, with one of its feet. In retaliation, it grabbed its own chain, and jerking on it, sent Boromir flying into the side wall, where he tumbled down, and lay for a moment, stunned, and weaponless. An orc, nearby, seeing its chance, lifted a knife to kill him, but in that instant, Aragorn flung his own sword, flipping it end over end, to bury with a sickening crunch, in the creature's neck. Lalaith, barely pausing in her own battle with the orcs nearest her, could not allow herself a breath of relief for Boromir, though she felt it.

One of Gimli's throwing axes, wedged itself in the monstrous beast, and the creature turned on Gimli, who leapt clear, just as its massive club obliterated Balin's coffin. Lalaith winced and ducked as shards of stone flew over her head, one shard spinning into the skull of an orc that was coming at her with a wicked, doubled edged ax. Safe for the moment, she glanced quickly about, looking for the hobbits, and for Legolas, though, for the moment, no hobbits but Sam, now creatively using one of his frying pans as a weapon, could be seen. Perhaps they'd ducked behind one of the pillars at the back of the room. She hoped so. As for Legolas, her heart caught painfully on a beat, he was up on the ledge that surrounded the perimeter of the room, fighting orcs there. At the moment, he had two arrows at once set to his bowstring, and taking aim, released them both into the troll, knocking it back just as it was coming at Gimli from behind before turning back to the orcs coming at him on the ledge, spinning, slashing and stabbing at them as they fell before him.

Infuriated, the troll turned now on Legolas, and using its free chain like a whip, lashed it at him in a blind, wild rage.

"Legolas!" Lalaith cried out as he dodged the first strike, and leapt up onto the ledge, wanting to aid him, if she could.

"Lalaith, get away! Get down!" Legolas scolded as he dodged another blow from the troll's chain.

"Oh?" She shouted back, gesturing to the room filled with orcs, and glancing out at it. "Is it safer down there?"

But in her swift glance, she saw across the room, an orc, perched on the same level with the elves, armed with a bow, had drawn its string back to its cheek, and was taking aim, straight at Legolas, who was trapped by the troll's chain lashing the ledge about him.

"_No_!" Lalaith gasped, and leaped down from the ledge, snatching her bow and an arrow in the same motion to kill the vile orc as she landed, but knowing as she did, that even with her elven reflexes, she would be too late. Then, as chaos raged around her, she saw nothing but the creature as it released the string of its bow, and knew in that moment, that the arrow would kill Legolas. But halfway across the room, as if out of nowhere, a sword swung in a high, wide arch, smashing the arrow right out of the air, and shattering it harmlessly against the ground. Just as quickly, Lalaith replaced her bow, and the unspent arrow, and turned to face Boromir whose sword had caught the arrow out of the air, and was gazing at her now with a faint, crooked smile.

"Boromir." Lalaith gasped, darting to him, and laying a hand on his forearm. "Thank you."

She drew back to see Boromir's expression take on a glow as if she had just gifted to him all the mithril of Moria.

"You are welcome, my Lady." He returned, and then turned away to continue battling what few orcs were left alive in the room.

Lalaith glanced back at Legolas, who had managed to lock the troll's chain around a pillar, holding the creature, at least for the moment, in place. He was safe for now, she smiled, then turned and sprinted toward the orc who had nearly killed him, and leaped up onto the ledge to face it, her knives ready.

"_Thaur lhug o Morgoth_!" she barked at it, more furious than she thought was possible.

The orc backed away, snorting, in a voice that almost sounded like laughter, and hissed back at her, "_Snaga_."

Lalaith gasped, reeling back. That same word the ring had uttered! The word that meant _slave_ in the Black Speech of Mordor. How did this orc know anything of that?

The orc laughed again, and tossing its bow aside, drew a short, knife, and taking advantage of Lalaith's momentary shock, lunged forward to impale her, but Lalaith recovered enough to spin away in the last instant, the blade slashing across the back of her shoulder leaving a line of sharp pain. The orc's arm continued on, lunging between her back and her quiver, wrapping around and cracking half of her remaining arrows, as the creature spun her toward the wall, slamming her back against it, jarring her knives from her hands, and putting a huge fist to her neck, as if it intended to crush her throat against the stone wall.

"_Do not fear, Snaga_." The orc hissed in the common speech, holding her, dangling, several inches off of the floor. "_Your elf lover will follow you to your precious Halls of Mandos soon enough, and all your companions after him. You will not have the ring to worry about any more_." The orc chuckled gutturally and sarcastically growled, "_Not even your all powerful parents could foresee this end for you, could they_?"

Lalaith barely heard the orc as she kicked at its chest, and clawed and scratched at its powerful paw. Somewhere, she could hear Sam screaming Frodo's name, and it registered at the back of her mind, that something terrible had happened, for the fury with which the others all fought the few remaining orcs, seemed to intensify. But she barely registered it. She gasped as her air was cut off even further, still reeling from the white hot pain slicing through her shoulder. But suddenly the pressure against her throat was gone. She fell onto shaky legs as the orc reeled back. An arrowhead, and the blade of a sword had both appeared, suddenly protruding through both sides of its chest as it fell crashing back over the ledge, flailing its arms wildly through the air as it fell. It smashed its head against a pile of jagged rocks and lay still.

Legolas and Boromir stood, almost shoulder to shoulder, near the spot where Balin's tomb had once been, now a pile of ruined stones and dwarf bones. Boromir's hand was bare of his sword, and he was closing and opening his fist, staring down at the dead orc as if he would continue hacking it to pieces if he still held his weapon. Legolas however, raised his eyes to hers, offered her a sad, worried smile, then snatched another arrow, and turned away to battle the troll.

Something was indeed terribly wrong, Lalaith suddenly realized as her head cleared and she retrieved her knives, cleaned them, and returned them to her quiver. Boromir kicked the orc over, and yanked his sword out in one swift movement before turning, and with an angry shout, lashed into the few orcs left alive. Sam was shrieking like a little orc himself as he slashed his little sword furiously at the few remaining orcs, and Aragorn was rising shakily to his knees from where he had fallen on a pile of rubble near the wall, probably having been stunned momentarily by the troll as Boromir had been, earlier. Merry and Pippin were perched on the creature's hunched back, shouting furiously as they stabbed at its massive head, and the monster was grabbing up at them, as Gandalf and Gimli hacked at its stomach and legs. But Frodo was nowhere to be seen.

The troll finally managed to grab Merry by one leg, and pulled him off its shoulder, batting Gimli down onto his back with one huge hand, and flinging Merry aside like an annoying insect with the other, but Pippin still clung tenaciously to the creature's head, jabbing and stabbing at it, in spite of the monster reeling and flinging its head about wildly. Legolas dashed almost to the feet of the troll, an arrow drawn back to his cheek, hesitating only in fear of hitting Pippin on accident. But when the creature threw its head back, roaring angrily, then Legolas took his opportunity, and released the arrow, which flew straight into the troll's mouth.

The troll, in the middle of an angry roar, suddenly cut off, and moaned, half in pain, half sadly, and for the briefest instant, Lalaith felt a twinge of pity for the monster. Then its legs buckled, and it collapsed, dead, to the floor, Pippin tumbling off its shoulders and rolling breathlessly to a stop.

The room was suddenly, ominously quiet, except for Aragorn who scrambled to the corner, blocked from Lalaith's sight by a section of jutting stone. "Oh, no." He murmured.

Lalaith's heart sank. Not Frodo! She rushed around the ledge to see Aragorn bent over Frodo's still form lying face down, a spear beneath him. Carefully, Aragorn turned him over, and Lalaith cringed, not wishing to see what she was about to.

But then Frodo moved. He sucked in a breath and moaned. Sam rushed to his side, his face hopeful. The spear, bright and bloodless clattered away as the little hobbit, gasping for breath, looked up at the faces gathered around him.

"He's alive." Sam announced, emotion filling his voice.

"I'm alright." Frodo gasped, struggling to sit up with Sam's and Aragorn's help. "I'm not hurt."

"You should be dead." Aragorn breathed. "That spear would have skewered a wild boar." And then Lalaith saw something glimmer at the base of Frodo's throat.

"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye." Gandalf said quietly.

Several buttons of his shirt had come undone, and as Frodo drew open his shirt to show everyone, she saw something beneath. Was it-, could it be Bilbo's little shirt of mithril rings? She caught a delighted breath. There was a horrendous tear in the front of his shirt where the spear had jabbed, but the mithril shirt had held, sparing his life.

"Mithril." Gimli murmured beneath his breath, then pronounced approvingly, "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

"Goodness!" Merry said, coming behind Lalaith, his voice bright, having recovered from his flight across the room. "You're _wounded_!"

"No, he's not." Pippin argued. "He's got that metal shirt on. Didn't you see?"

"Not Frodo, you _nitwit_." Merry snapped back. "Lady Lalaith."

Lalaith's brows lifted in surprise. She'd forgotten all about her own injury, more concerned for the time, about Frodo. But now she again became aware of the searing pain through the back of her shoulder.

"Oh." She sighed unhappily. "And that orc snapped half my arrows, too."

"Morgoth take your arrows." Legolas murmured, grasping her shoulders and spinning her around to examine the wound. "You're bleeding, Lalaith."

"_Oooh_! _Ugg_!" Pippin groaned a little too loudly, and Lalaith winced as Legolas began to peel back the slit cloth of her tunic, sticky and warm with her blood.

"Pippin!" Lalaith scolded, a little too sharply from the pain.

"But it looks like it hurts!" the small hobbit protested.

"It's only a flesh wound!" she shot back.

"What're you talking about?" Gimli growled. "You're bleeding like a _stuck pig_!"

"Please, everyone!" Lalaith groaned, pulling away from Legolas. "I am not comfortable with nine _males_ ogling the back of my shoulder!"

"That bleeding needs to be staunched, my dear." Gandalf said softly.

Lalaith sighed, then consenting, said, "Very well, but only Gandalf and Aragorn. The rest of you will kindly look away."

Legolas' brows twitched with a hurt look. But he said nothing as Lalaith turned so that none but Gandalf and Aragorn could see the slice across the flesh over her shoulder blade.

Pippin cleared his throat politely, scratched his ear, and softly mumbled to Merry, "I think she's afraid Legolas'd like studying her bare shoulder a bit _too much_."

Lalaith flushed as Pippin spoke, and dropped her eyes downward, but Legolas smiled at Pippin's words.

"What is _that_?" Aragorn murmured to Gandalf under his breath, giving Lalaith the first hint that he had found something more than just a bad wound.

"Odd." Gandalf said thoughtfully as he pressed something soft and wet against her wound, then covered it with a cloth as Aragorn tied it around her neck and beneath her arm with a longer strip leather. Raising his voice, Gandalf asked, "Lalaith, what do you know about these other strange marks on your shoulder?"

"_Marks_?" Lalaith asked, craning her neck. "I have no marks there."

"If it is a birthmark, it's the strangest I've seen." Aragorn muttered.

"It is no birthmark." Gandalf breathed, his voice grave. "It's a _brand_."


	13. Chapter 12

**Lalaith Elerrina--Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 12**

**April 8, 2005**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

"A brand?" Legolas demanded, starting forward, his eyes filled with concern. He joined Gandalf and Aragorn, but Lalaith did not protest.

"A brand from a heated iron, burned into her very skin." Gandalf clarified in a soft, saddened voice.

"But I've never seen it before in my life." Lalaith insisted. "Neither has Arwen, nor Aunt Celebrian. How could...?"

"It is written in the Black Speech." Gandalf said. She felt the gentle pressure of Gandalf's weathered hand trace along a spot just above her wound, where the word must have been branded. "Like the markings on the One Ring. For the ring, it must be placed in fire for the writing to be visible. For you, perhaps it appears only when evil is near."

Lalaith furrowed her brow. It would explain the pains in her shoulder. "Gandalf, it says-, It's the word for _slave_, isn't it?"

Silence followed her query, and then she sensed Gandalf nodding slowly. "I'm afraid so." He said softly.

Lalaith closed her eyes for long moments.

"How upon Arda did it get there?" Aragorn demanded.

"If Lalaith cannot remember, we can only guess." Gandalf said.

"Ai, if I ever find out who did this to you-" Legolas murmured as she the familiar warmth of two of his fingers traced across the same spot Gandalf had touched earlier; and despite the onlookers, and the pain in her wound, Lalaith felt her mouth go dry at the warm touch of his fingers against her bare skin.

But suddenly he stiffened and sucked in a quick breath of surprise.

A short intake of surprise came from Aragorn as well, as Gandalf too started.

"What?" she demanded, alarmed, craning her neck in a vain attempt to see what they could see.

"It's gone." Aragorn murmured, awe in his voice. "When Legolas touched it, it disappeared, melted away, if it had never been there."

"But her wound isn't gone." Legolas murmured anxiously. "Her blood is already seeping through the bandage."

"That can't be helped, now." Lalaith exclaimed, hearing renewed orcish shrieks drawing near.

Everyone looked toward the shattered doorway, seeing the hunched shadows of lumbering orcs coming closer .

"To the bridge of Khazad-Dum." Gandalf commanded breathlessly.

"Can you run?" Legolas asked Lalaith, his eyes worried as Boromir snatched Aragorn's torch from the corner, and the group rushed toward the cracked, broken doorway.

"Of course," Lalaith smiled bravely, fighting the pain in her shoulder. " It's my shoulder that is hurt, not my legs."

The Fellowship dashed over the shattered stone and wood of the doorway and into the vast chamber beyond, as uncounted numbers of orcs collected behind them, their shrieks, and high pitched warbling echoing through the enormous cavern.

Lalaith snatched her bow from her quiver, hoping that the wound in her shoulder would not affect her aim as the Fellowship rushed through the dark. Shrieks were coming at them from all sides now, and even above their heads as she risked a glance upward.

Indeed, as she suspected, there were black, beetle like shapes, orcs, their ugly, jagged armor clattering noisily as they scurrying out of the cracks in the ceiling, and scampering on all fours down the pillars to pursue them, as if a sudden tide of evil had been unleashed on the Fellowship all at once.

In the light of the torch and Gandalf's staff, Lalaith could see ahead in the darkness, a solid wall coming into shape, with a door at its base. That was their destination, if they could reach it. But the glimmer of hope that had begun in her heart was squelched as masses of squealing, shrieking orcs closed in before them, cutting off their escape, and their group was forced to skid to a stop, now completely surrounded, an island in the midst of a raging sea of leaping, shrieking demons.

Ignoring the fire that seared through her shoulder as she moved her arm, Lalaith snatched an arrow from her quiver, and drew her bowstring back, waiting for the orcs to move first. She risked a quick glance at Legolas, his own bowstring drawn taut to his cheek. They had little chance against this many orcs. This was where they would meet their end. At least she was here, with him.

Legolas' chest swelled with a shaky breath as he glanced over his shoulder at her, and held her eyes with his. Their shared glanced lasted no more than a moment, but to Lalaith it seemed to last an eternity.

At this moment, Lalaith longed, more than ever, to see the moonlight on his face once more, to feel again the comfort of his arms around her, to taste his kiss. But his gaze would have to be enough until they found themselves in the Halls of Mandos.

_But what would become of Arwen_? Lalaith found herself thinking as their eyes broke, and they faced again the orcs massed before them. _What would happen to her when she learned she had lost Aragorn? And what of the ring? Had they failed? Would Sauron have it once again_?

A deep rumble in the distance, as of stone scraping on stone, interrupted her thoughts. The victorious cries of the orcs surrounding them turned immediately into shrieks of alarm as the creatures glanced furtively about, looking for the source of the noise.

Lalaith's own eyes darted over her shoulder. Far down the rows of pillars, a bright orange light, as of a blazing fire shining through the rows of pillars, was moving toward them, drawing slowly closer, as if whatever creature was coming, still out of their sight, but just one row of pillars away, was made itself entirely of flames.

As another rumbling echoed through the black cavern, the orcs panicked and scattered, and in only a few moments, the path toward the shadowy doorway was once again open to them. Lalaith, her wounded shoulder now throbbing from the strain of her effort, lowered her bow. Gimli chuckled aloud at the departure of the orcs, but he was the only one to do so. Everyone else had turned their eyes on the orange flicker drawing ever closer.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir whispered close to Gandalf's shoulder.

For a moment, Gandalf did not answer. Instead, he shut his eyes tightly, as if in deep thought. As another rumble echoed through the stones beneath their feet, Gandalf once again opened his eyes, and slowly muttered, "A Balrog."

Lalaith felt a chill shudder course through her body at the word as she stared at the approaching light.

"A demon of the ancient world." Gandalf continued softly. "This foe is beyond any of you." Lalaith's stiffened muscles sprang again into action as Gandalf cried suddenly, "Run!"

And as one, they were again rushing toward the massive wall where the doorway loomed high. Gandalf and Aragorn paused on either side of the doorway, waiting for the others to pass through.

"Quickly!" Gandalf ordered.

Boromir was the first through the door, Legolas and Lalaith were just behind, with the hobbits and Gimli coming after them.

Broken stone steps began just beyond the first shadows, and Boromir scurried down these, glancing back to see if everyone else was coming behind. In his haste, Boromir did not see that the stairway before him had broken entirely away, and ended abruptly at the edge of an abyss, until it was almost too late. Turning forward in the last instant, he saw the edge of the precipice, and jerked back on the last step before he plunged to his death, teetering precariously and crying out in alarm, his arms flailing as the torch fell from his grasp, and plummeted into the pit far below where jagged rocks loomed sharply, and violent flames, fueled by volcanic fissures, licked upward. In spite of his efforts to regain his balance, he still would have toppled downward, but for Legolas, who dashed from behind and snatched him back, the two tumbling backward onto the steps at Lalaith's feet.

"Legolas! Boromir. You're not hurt, are you?" She pleaded, grabbing them both by a shoulder, and pulling them up. "Come, we can go down this way!" Another set of steps fell away to their left, narrow, and broken and marred, but still mostly intact, that meandered downward and jutted out into the darkness as it descended into the chasm below them, following a crooked path that, Lalaith hoped, led eventually to the bridge they were to cross.

Behind the hobbits, Gandalf had fallen, exhausted, against the side of the wall.

Noticing Gandalf's pause, Boromir ordered, "Wait." He put a hand gently on Lalaith's shoulder and she stopped as did Legolas and the others, for the old wizard.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn breathed, turning back, his hand grasping his arm to assist him.

"Lead them on, Aragorn." Gandalf ordered, and nodded across the vast chasm of blackness toward a carved stone bridge in the dark distance. "The bridge is near."

Aragorn paused, clearly not understanding Gandalf's order. _Gandalf_ was the leader, after all, not him.

"Do as I say!" Gandalf cried, pushing Aragorn back. "Swords are no more use here!" Gandalf gathered his strength, pushing himself up, and the group started in a rush down the steps.

Lalaith, somehow, found herself at the front of the group, with the hobbits. Boromir and Aragorn with Gandalf, were behind them, with Gimli and Legolas last of all. As they reached the section of steps where the stairs turned and continued to descend alongside the first section of steps, Legolas leaped down into the midst of the hobbits, right behind Lalaith.

"You are still bleeding." He murmured worriedly as they continued down the steps, narrow and steep, that turned and descended outward down into the vast pit below them.

"It cannot be helped." She answered back, fighting the throbbing pain of her wound all the more. She could feel the wetness of her blood against her skin as it seeped through the bandage. "We are not far from the bridge. Once we are across it, and safe, Gandalf will staunch the wound."

"You're growing weary, Lalaith." He insisted. "You're losing blood."

"I will be all right." She insisted, shaking her head.

Legolas glanced at her, looking as if he wanted to say more, but their conversation cut short as they drew to a stop at a portion of the steps that had completely broken away. They would have to jump across.

"Go, Legolas." She ordered. If she paused a moment, and regathered her strength, she would be able to make the jump, but not now.

Legolas cast an apprehensive glance at her, but obeyed, leaping nimbly to the other side, and turned. He beckoned to her, but she shook her head wearily, and he turned his focus on Gandalf beside her.

"Gandalf!" He called to the old wizard who hesitated, and glanced back over his shoulder as the wall they'd passed beneath shuddered, part of the ceiling above it breaking away. Something massive beyond the wall, bright and flaming orange, was trying to break through. But then Gandalf turned forward and with a determined jump, leaped across the void. Legolas caught him, steadied him, and he was safe.

Seeing the old wizard make the leap, gave her confidence, and feeling a renewal of strength, Lalaith dropped down a step, preparing to jump across to join them. But in that moment, an arrow flew out of the darkness to her left, cracked against the steps beside her, and went spinning over her head, off into oblivion. The orcs had found them again!

To their left, and up on a level above them, a row of pillars disappeared into darkness, and a line of armed orcs had collected, using the pillars as shields as they fired upon the Fellowship, entirely exposed upon the broken steps.

Using the strength she had gathered from her momentary rest, she rushed back up to the steps above Aragorn and Frodo, the last of the company, and ignorant of the continued hail of arrows from the line of orcs behind the broad pillars, snatched one of the few unbroken arrows from her back. Against the protesting scream in her shoulder, she released the arrow at the orc that had fired the first arrow. Her own arrow struck true, hitting the creature with a quivering thunk, and the body toppled from its perch, falling into the flames below. Aragorn and Legolas released two more arrows, and two more orcs fell into the pit.

"Merry! Pippin!" She heard Boromir shout, and just as a grumbling crack broke the edge of the cracked steps away, he snatched up the two hobbits, and leaped across the emptiness, landing heavily, but otherwise unhurt as Legolas and Gandalf helped to steady him and his smaller charges. The steps he had been standing on moments before, however, went crashing into the pit below them, shattering against the broken, fiery floor.

The hail of arrows continued unabated from the orcs cowering in the darkness, and Lalaith, Legolas and Aragorn returned the fire, sending orc bodies dropping into the fire below, until one black arrow zipped out of the darkness, its fletchings clipping Lalaith's ear with a hiss of wind, caught her bow, and flipped it out of her hand. She cried out, startled, and helplessly watched it fall, spinning away into the depths below her. It had been a gift from Elrond and Celebrian, one she'd had for hundreds of years. The same bow she'd used to battle the orcs in Loth Lorien.

"You all right?" Gimli turned with a growled. His voice was gruff, but Lalaith could see concern in the dwarf's deep set eyes.

"An orc arrow knocked my bow out of my hand. It's gone." She lamented.

"Augh, better it than you, elf-girl." He said, then offered her the slightest of grins, and turned forward again. Lalaith smiled slightly at the dwarf's simple gesture of kindness, feeling somewhat better.

"Sam!" Aragorn gasped, and grabbed the hobbit up, flinging him across the widening distance into Boromir's arms. Immediately he turned toward Gimli as if he intended on throwing him as well. But the dwarf put out a protesting hand.

"Nobody tosses a dwarf!" He insisted, and with a mighty yell, jumped on his own, his short, stout figure flying across the abyss, his booted feet at last scraping the rough edge of the stairs on the other side.

Lalaith caught a breath in her throat. Gimli hadn't jumped far enough! He was toppling backward into the chasm! At the last instant, though, Legolas thrust out a hand, and grabbed the only thing he could snatch in that moment, a handful of Gimli's beard, and strained to pull the dwarf up.

"_Not the beard_!" Was all Gimli could offer Legolas for thanks as the elf strained to pull his heavily armored, stocky frame to safety.

Aragorn fired another arrow at the orcs, sending another one plummeting downward as Legolas finally managed to pull Gimli to the lower ledge of steps. But no sooner had Aragorn's arrow been released from the string, when another crack appeared in the stone, at Lalaith's feet. With a gasp that was almost a shriek, she scampered backward, and dropped to one knee, grabbing onto Frodo's cloak and pulled him up with her as Aragorn struggled to help the hobbit and to find a handhold for himself at the same time as the steps fell away beneath him.

"Aragorn!" She shouted, grasping his arm as his legs dangled over the abyss, and helped to drag him up.

The three of them were safe, for now. But as Aragorn and Frodo found their feet again, and the three of them turned to the others waiting on the ledge below, Lalaith's heart dropped.

"Steady." Aragorn ordered, clasping Frodo's shoulder with his free hand. "Hold on."

The chasm was too wide now to ever hope of making it across safely. Even with their combined strength, there was no way they could possibly throw the most vital member of the Fellowship, Frodo, light as he was, that far.

But when Lalaith looked out over the chasm, and met Legolas' eyes, she could see, by the sheer anguish written on his otherwise fair countenance, that Frodo was not the one he was most concerned about now. Boromir's face carried a similar expression, but Lalaith hardly glanced at the human, her eyes fixed, unmoving, on Legolas.

"_Lalaith_." His mouth formed silently, his face pleading.

A furious roar behind them in that moment, made the three spin around, directing their attention above them. The wall was cracking and buckling inward, the Balrog doubling its efforts to get at them. Huge boulders were breaking away from the ceiling, and raining down around them with every blow from beyond the wall. Only a few paces upward, one sharp edged boulder smashed into the steps with a bone jarring crack, cutting clean through the stone before it tumbled down into the pit beneath, trapping the three helplessly in the very moment that the base of their steps, already dangerously eroded from time and the lack of care, finally cracked and began to tilt.

Aragorn grabbed Frodo's shoulder firmly, and Lalaith clasped the hobbit's other small shoulder as Frodo drew in a frightened gasp. The steps rocked beneath them, tipping one way and then the other as Gandalf, Legolas and the others watched helplessly below.

"Hang on!" Aragorn yelled.

_To what_? Lalaith wondered mutely, but did not have the strength to say it, as she gazed numbly at Legolas, who looked desperate enough to leap back up across the chasm in an attempt to get to her. Gandalf seemed to sense his emotion, and put a steadying hand on the elf's arm. Neither of them, nor Boromir, nor any of the others blinked, or glanced away from Lalaith and the other two trapped on the teetering stairs.

Backward the stairs rocked, then to the side. _Valar, help us_. Lalaith pleaded within her mind, desperately, hopelessly, convinced that they were about to topple to their deaths amidst a rain of rubble and boulders. But no sooner had the thought escaped her mind, when the stairs began to tilt forward, farther, toward where Legolas stood, waiting eagerly.

"Lean forward!" Aragorn shouted, and Frodo and Lalaith gladly obeyed him as the steps tilted closer and closer to those waiting below. "Steady!" He cried again.

"Come on!" Legolas blurted breathlessly, extending his arms as the three drew closer, ever closer, and then suddenly with a crash, the stairs collided, and Lalaith felt herself propelled forward through the air, flying right into his waiting arms. Gandalf caught Frodo, and Boromir caught Aragorn, but Lalaith, for one moment, knew nothing but Legolas as his arms, warm and sturdy, wrapped around her, and held her tightly for a moment before he drew back and steadied her shoulders, mindful of her injury, his warm, comforting hands sliding upward to her face, searching her eyes as if to reassure himself that she was with him, that she was safe.

"Lalaith-," he choked in a voice that sounded as if he were near to sobbing, studying her with eyes that glistened with what looked suspiciously like tears.

"Legolas, I'm here. " She gasped, grasping his hands and drawing them away from her face. "I'm safe."

The others had already started down the steps, and Legolas, as if remembering suddenly, snatched her hand in his, and the two elves darted after their companions in their rush toward the bridge of Khazad-Dum.


	14. Chapter 13

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 13**

**May 8, 2005**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

The air was hot, difficult to breathe, and flames, shooting sporadically from fissures in the cracked stone, leaped about them as they sprinted toward the narrow bridge coming into their view, arching over a vast, deep black chasm.

"Over the bridge!" Gandalf shouted, urging them on. "Fly!"

Pippin, his little legs churning to keep up, tripped slightly, but Lalaith snatched his shoulder, steadying him, and glanced backward as she did. She wished she had not, for out of the curtain of flames, leaped a creature she had seen only in nightmares. It seemed to be formed entirely of boiling lava, with nothing more than a thin crust of black crackling stone for flesh. Its spine bristled with a sheet of flames, as spikes on its back, and on either side of this ridge of flame, were massive, bat like wings, with fire-red flames creeping through the cracking fissures on the surface of its black stone skin. Upon its massive, skeletal head were two horns, curling toward its face, where its blazing nostrils flared.

Arching its back toward Gandalf who had turned to face it, it opened its giant mouth and roared, exposing the flames that boiled within, and sending a wave of blistering heat rolling across their backs.

Then rising to its full height, it stomped after them, jarring the stone beneath their feet as came at them. Gandalf now, turned and ran, the last of the Fellowship, behind Legolas and Lalaith.

The bridge, drawing ever nearer, was too narrow but for one to cross at a time, and Legolas dropped back a step, for Lalaith to go ahead. Though the sight of the Balrog filled her with fear, she was growing weary. It was because of the knife slice across her shoulder, she knew. All the firing of arrows, and the running had not helped to keep the wound closed, and she was feeling the effects more with every step. Still, she forced herself faster, for Legolas' sake, and for Gandalf's, the only two behind her as she sprinted across the bridge, not allowing herself to look down into the seemingly bottomless pit below them, until she had reached the other side, and turned, grateful to see Legolas arriving safely as well. Now only Gandalf was left to cross.

But- what was he _doing_? Gandalf had stopped in the middle of the bridge! He turned around once again, facing the Balrog, and with more fury than she had ever seen in him, pronounced, in a voice that thundered, "_You cannot pass_!"

"Gandalf!" Frodo shrieked. But if he heard, Gandalf gave no indication.

"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor." Gandalf declared as the Balrog rose to its full height, flames seeping from every crack in its skin to show its fury. "The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!"

Gandalf raised his staff and his sword, and a sphere of white light materialized around him, just as a monstrous flaming sword appeared in the Balrog's fist, and came down upon Gandalf. But, as if the white light was an impenetrable shield, the sword crashed against Gandalf's staff and the sphere of light, throwing off a shower of sparks, but doing no harm to the wizard.

"Go back to the shadow." Gandalf seethed.

The flaming sword in the Balrog's fist mutated into a whip, and the creature of flame and shadow cracked it viciously against the stone at the edge the abyss over which Gandalf stood as one of its clawed feet thudded down onto the bridge.

With no sign of fear or intimidation, Gandalf again repeated in a voice that echoed through Moria, "_You shall not pass_!" He brought his staff down with a crack, on the stone of the bridge before him, and a rumble, as of thunder, rolled from the spot.

Enraged, the Balrog's nostrils flared, and it raised its whip again, its other foot stepping further out onto the bridge. But as it came, the stone, cracked by Gandalf's staff, gave way beneath it. And the Balrog tumbled backward, roaring as it went, plummeting down into the impenetrable blackness below.

Gandalf drew a deep breath as he watched the creature fall, then turned away. And a slight smile of relief began to form on Lalaith's lips. But Gandalf had turned away from the Balrog too soon.

With one last, mighty thrash, the flaming whip cracked upward, lashing around Gandalf's ankle. Lalaith's smile dropped away, replaced by a look of horror. The whip jerked him down, and he tumbled over the broken edge of the bridge, his sword and staff falling away into the abyss as he clung precariously to the last bits of rock.

With a gasp, Lalaith darted forward, but Legolas snatched her around the waist, and pulled her back. Frodo tried to dash toward Gandalf as well, only to be grabbed back by Boromir.

"Gandalf!" Frodo screamed, his voice fraught with terror.

"Let me go, Legolas!" Lalaith pleaded, fighting against Legolas' firm hold. "There is time still to save him, still. Please!"

Yet in the back of her mind, Lalaith understood. Orcs were already coming out of the shadows beyond the bridge. There was truly nothing she could do, without dying as well But still, it was _Gandalf_! Dear Mithrandir. Her wise, gentle friend for as long as she could remember. Could they do _nothing_? He needed them! She jerked against Legolas' grip, but he only held her all the tighter.

"_Mithrandir_!" She shrieked, and struggled, but Legolas grip held her firmly.

Gandalf managed to pull himself up only enough to see their agonizing faces, his own expression filled with urgency, not for his own sake, but for theirs, as he hissed, "_Fly, you fools_!" And then -Lalaith's heart stopped- he let go, and dropped away into the dark shadows of the abyss.

"_No_!" Frodo screamed, his face a wretched mask of disbelief and anguish, his pain filled cry echoing about them. Even with Gandalf gone, Boromir still had to bodily lift the hobbit in his arms to keep him back as Legolas dragged Lalaith along after him, around one last corner, and up a flight of stone steps, where sunlight, almost a foreign thing to her now, was streaming through.

"Aragorn!" Boromir shouted behind her to their companion lingering behind. She could hear the hiss of orcish arrows flying through the air, and the crack as they smashed against stone. But it did not matter to her now as the sunlight streamed around her, and she found herself on a mountain side, fresh air and the scent of growing things flowing about her, the mountain sloping down into a sea of green, winding through with small streams.

At last Legolas' hold relaxed, and she jerked, almost angrily from him, to fall into a heap on the rough stone in grief and exhaustion, unable to contain the sobs that ripped from her lungs, unabated. She was barely aware of all that was going on around her. Gimli was somewhere nearby, his loud, rough voice insisting he go back into the mines to take on the orcs, and Boromir was having to restrain the dwarf as he had Frodo. Merry was weeping a short distance off, with Pippin, completely collapsed in his lap, sobbing. Sam was a short distance away as well, crying alone in his own grief.

"Lalaith-," Legolas said softly near her shoulder, his hand touched her gently, but she wanted no one now.

"Leave me." She ordered bitterly between sobs, waving a hand dismissively, not even looking up. She felt him reluctantly withdraw his hand, and feared she had hurt him, but she could feel no more grief than she already did. She finished, more softly, "Just-, leave me."

"Legolas," Aragorn's voice cut at her, unwanted, through her cloud of misery. "Get them up."

"Give them a moment for pity's sake." Boromir pleaded, paces away.

"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs." Aragorn returned with authority, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "And Lalaith continues to lose blood. The bandage has slowed the bleeding, but not stopped it. The herb I need to staunch the bleeding grows in the woods of Lothlorien, but not on these mountains. Come, Boromir. Legolas. Gimli, get them up."

Lalaith felt Legolas' hand once again on her shoulders, gently drawing her to her feet. This time she did not protest, and even managed to raise her eyes to his, noting his face written with a quiet grief of his own. She had not noticed before, consumed in her own pain, and felt a stab of shame.

Aragorn stepped toward Sam, and lifted him, setting him upon his feet. "On your feet, Sam." Aragorn said softly to the unhappy hobbit, gently slapping his shoulder. He turned around, his eyes searching, as he called, "Frodo?"

The other hobbit was already wandering off, staggering weakly down the mountain, his back to them.

"Frodo!" Aragorn called again.

The little hobbit stopped, and turned, saying nothing as tears streamed from his eyes, and one fell from his cheek.

"Lalaith, you are growing weaker." Legolas said, placing a steadying hand on her arm. "Let me carry you."

"If you carry me, I will slow you all down." Lalaith turned to him, struggling to offer him a grateful smile through her tears. " I can still run, for now."

He shook his head. "Running will make your blood flow more swiftly, and the bleeding will only increase."

Lalaith shook her head. "I won't slow you down. We must reach the woods before nightfall."

Legolas did not seem convinced, as he reached for and took her hand in his. "I'm staying beside you, at least. And I will carry you, even against your wishes, at the first sign of a stumble."

"Fair enough," she agreed, then turned, and started with the others in a quick trot toward the green below, where the trees of Lothlorien began.

Lalaith's limbs were feeling all the more weighted, and even her neck was beginning to feel the heaviness of her head as the Fellowship came at last to the trees which marked the borders of Lothlorien, and slowed to a welcome walk beneath the softly whispering branches, as leaves fell gently around her. Her brain was growing foggy, and no matter how she strained to focus, her senses grew only all the more clouded. With what little reasoning she still possessed, she realized it was because of her wound, because of her loss of blood. Perhaps if she had been mortal, she would have fainted long before now. Even as an immortal elf, she knew she could still fall into a swoon, and if the bleeding was not stopped, she could even die a result of the wound she'd received from the orc's blade. But now as the trees closed over her head, she felt no fear. She welcomed the shadows of the trees as they enveloped her, grateful to have the familiar scent and sight of Lothlorien to soothe her addled mind. She knew these trees. These elves were the kinsfolk of her aunt, Celebrian, with whom she and Arwen had come before. Of course, when she had come, she had been mounted on one of the regal steeds of Imladris, and dressed in an elegant, immaculate gown, with flowers garlanding her fair, flowing, hair, laughing with Arwen as they came. And now, dressed as she was, wounded and lethargic, covered in black orc blood, and her own blood as well, perhaps she would not even be recognized.

"Stay close, young hobbits." Gimli hissed to Frodo and the others just behind her. "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods. An elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her, fall under her spell and are never seen again."

_Who could the dwarf possibly be talking about_? Lalaith wondered within her fogging mind, feeling a tug of annoyance at Gimli. There was no one like that in these woods. Lalaith looked back to glare at Gimli, but saw, beyond the dwarf, Frodo, who had faltered, his face taking on a worried, distracted appearance. He was glancing about, as if looking for something, as if he had heard a noise, or a voice, and he was searching for the source of it.

"Mister Frodo?" Sam asked behind him. This seemed to shake him out of his stupor, and he began walking again, though still with trepidation.

She stumbled, and fell heavily into Legolas, who had remained faithfully by her side.

"Lalaith-," he murmured.

"Well," Gimli said, clomping past the elves where they stood paused, "here's _one_ dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk, and the ears of a fox."

Lalaith's head jerked suddenly up, tense at the sound of bowstrings being drawn back. In an instant, where there before had been no one, suddenly they were surrounded by Lothlorien elves, bows bent, gilded arrowheads scant inches from their faces.

Legolas' arm drop away from her as he drew his own bow and an arrow and pulled the string taut. Lalaith faltered, and almost fell, a cloud of haze filling her mind before she shook it off with an effort.

"The dwarf breaths so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," came a voice from beyond Aragorn. A voice she knew well, filled with a hint of arrogance, and slight scorn.

"Aragorn, these woods are perilous." Gimli called from behind her. "We must turn back."

"You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood." The elf hissed at the dwarf. "You cannot go back."

"Haldir?" She asked wearily, moving around Aragorn so that she could see him.

"Lalaith?" The tall, golden haired elf seemed taken aback for a moment, before he remembered himself, drew in a quick breath and bowed slightly. "_Mae Govannen, Lalaith Elerrina, Elrondiel, _" he greeted her. His wary gaze took in her haggard appearance, then traveled to Legolas. He eyed the Mirkwood elf carefully, his eyes pausing only slightly when he noticed Lalaith's ring on his hand.

"_Haldir o Lorien_." She returned, forcing herself to stay upright as she nodded slightly. She saw two other elves she recognized behind him, and nodded to them as well. "Rumil." She greeted. "Orophin." The two golden haired elves, only slightly shorter than their brother, returned her nod. A young elf maid clad in the same mannish garb as the rest of the guards, stood near Haldir her head barely reaching his shoulder, the only female of the company.

"Lothirien." She murmured, remembering the maiden's name.

"_Mae Govannen, hiril nin,_" Lothirien returned with a tentative smile, and lowered her bow, her gaze moving from Lalaith to Haldir for a long moment before dropping to the earth. But in that moment the girl's eyes had been on Haldir, Lalaith caught the maiden's fleeting look of longing. Lalaith pursed her lips, and her eyes darted back to Haldir, but the tall elf did not seem to be conscious of the other maiden's glance.

"_Haldir o Lorien_." Aragorn greeted, speaking softly and stepping forward to Lalaith's shoulder. "_Henio aniron, boe ammen i dulu lin. Boe ammen veriad lin_."

Haldir straightened his shoulders at Aragorn's words as if they stung him, and he drew in a sharp breath. "You bring to us the fairest flower of Imladris, wounded and bloodstained, and you dare to ask for _our_ help?" he demanded indignantly. "Lalaith we welcome gladly, to heal her from whatever evil you failed to protect her from, but for the rest of you-,"

"Haldir!" Lalaith begged, feeling as if she were near tears from grief and weariness, and now, Haldir's infamous, exasperating pride was only adding to her affliction. "Please. These are my friends." She continued earnestly, speaking the common tongue for the sake of the others. She had little strength left; clouds of black billowed in her mind, threatening to shut out all that was around her. She had been losing much blood, she realized, but she pressed on, knowing she could influence Haldir more than Aragorn, or any of the others. "They have not hurt me. We are companions on a perilous quest having seen great difficulty in Moria. We have even-," her voice broke here, but she caught herself again, "lost one of our company. This wound was given me by orcs. If not for my companions, Haldir, I would be dead. Whatever welcome you think I merit, they do, also."

Haldir's brows twitched, and she could see his staunch arrogance abating at her pleading words. "Very well." He said, a hint of softness coming into his voice as he nodded to Lalaith, and directed his next words at the group. "You will come with me." He stated, and began to turn away.

"Haldir, a moment-," Lalaith murmured, and staggered after him, putting out a hand as if to call him back, and he turned to her, just as the last of her strength faded, and she crumpled, falling into his arms that swooped to catch her gently.

"Lalaith!" Legolas' voice cried as if from a great distance.

Her eyes fluttered, and she tried speak, but the black clouds of her mind were too thick, and too great, and they rushed in on her, blocking out all that was around her, and plunging her into darkness.


	15. Chapter 14

Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 14

**October 4, 2005**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Lalaith came slowly back to reality, to the sweet scent of growing things, and the soft whisper of wind through tree tops. Her body felt depleted, and the effort to open her eyes was straining, so she left them closed, though she listened, with interest, to the exchange taking place nearby.

"Welcome, Legolas Thranduilion." The voice, speaking in Elvish, was Haldir's, now civil and courteous.

"Our Fellowship stands in your debt." Legolas' soft voice answered in return.

At the tones of Legolas' familiar voice, Lalaith forced open her eyes, her twilit surroundings swimming slowly into focus. Above her, the trees were too thick to see the sky, in all but one spot where a single star shone through, gazing gently down upon her, as with a mother's gentle gaze, and filling her heart with peace and hope. She found herself upon a cloak on the edge of a talan, a flat platform high in the trees, with another cloak, Boromir's again, by the feel and smell of it, wrapped around her. Her hair had come out of its braid, and lay, billowing beneath her head, in the place of a pillow. Most elves had no fear of heights, and the talan had no walls, nor even a rail. Lalaith, however, felt immediate discomfort at finding herself so close to the edge, but because of her weakened state, found herself entirely too weak to move her limbs. She was barely able to turn her head, and had to satisfy herself with simply glancing away from the edge, toward the sound of Legolas' voice.

Legolas and their other companions stood with their backs to her, speaking to Haldir as Rumil and Orophin, and several other elves stood near. The elf maiden, Lothirien, sat cross legged near Lalaith, her bow and arrows across her back, stitching something with a needle and thread, and occasionally glancing up at Haldir with wide, adoring eyes.

"Ah, Aragorn of the Dunedain." Continued Haldir's voice, politely. "You also, are known to us. Your skill with healing and with herbs is to be admired, and will not be forgotten, for the Lady Lalaith Elerrina is a maiden well known and well loved in Lothlorien."

"And in Imladris." Aragorn returned softly, with a slight bow. "Lord Elrond will not soon forget your help, Haldir, and that of your fair Lorien maiden." Aragorn nodded in Lothirien's direction.

"Nor will I forget." Legolas added softly, almost reverently.

Haldir glanced back at Legolas, and he nodded slightly at Legolas' hand. "I see you wear her ring. It is a token of her troth?"

Legolas nodded. "It is."

"I congratulate you." Haldir struggled to offer a smile. "She is a maiden of rare beauty and grace, and courage."

"I thank you, Haldir of Lorien." Legolas said with a slight bow.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the elves." Came Gimli's voice in the choppy tones of the Common Tongue, horribly loud in the quiet after the soft, unobtrusive elven speech from moments before. "Speak words we can _all_ understand."

Haldir turned his eyes on the dwarf, lightning flashing from his gaze. "We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the dark days." He said slowly, his voice taking on a hint of hardness.

"And you know what this dwarf says to _that_?" Gimli demanded, and then proceeded to speak in a tongue with which Lalaith was not familiar. It was harsher than the Common Tongue, but Gimli would never stoop to speaking the Black Speech, so it could be nothing but Dwarvish, a language she'd never bothered to learn. Haldir clearly understood what was said though, as did Aragorn, and by the change in Haldir's countenance, Lalaith was glad she did not understand.

Turning, and snatching Gimli's arm roughly, Aragorn hissed, "_That_ was not so courteous."

To his credit, Haldir turned from Gimli, instead of rebuking the obnoxious dwarf as he might have done, and stepped past him, to face Sam and Frodo, who had been standing back.

"You bring great evil with you." Haldir breathed evenly, though with apprehension in his voice, his gaze fixed on Frodo. Turing quickly to Aragorn, he stated with decisiveness, "We will take the Lady with us, and return her to Imladris when she is fully healed. But you can go no further."

Lalaith tried to open her mouth to protest, but found herself entirely unable to make a single word come forth. Frustrated, she turned her eyes upward, toward the single star she could see through the leafy branches.

"_Do not fear, dear one_." The voice was feminine, and Lalaith turned her eyes to Lothirien, thinking she had noticed her awake, and had spoken. But Lothirien was still gazing, as if entirely captivated, at Haldir, who was now speaking with Aragorn in soft, respectful tones, though it was clear that both were intent on being the victor of their argument. "_Thou shalt not be dissuaded from thy quest_." The voice continued, and Lalaith realized it had come from above her, as if from the star she could see through the treetops. "_Nor wilt thou be long separated from him, he who loves thee, and to whom thou hast given thy heart's love_." The voice was soft and soothing, and though Lalaith could not remember why, it was somehow familiar to her. "_Thy friends are true, and will not forsake thee. Now sleep, my sweet child, and fear not_."

Obeying the gentle command, Lalaith closed her eyes once again, and drifted into peaceful slumber, to be half awakened some time later, for how long she knew not, by Haldir's voice that spoke with authority nearby, and she knew that somehow he was speaking to her companions as he said, "You will follow me."

A moment later, she felt herself lifted in strong, capable arms, and felt the soft brush of fine Elven hair against her face. "_Legolas_?" She murmured groggily, having found the use of her tongue, though now, she could not open her eyes.

"_Im Haldir_." Haldir's voice answered as he adjusted her slight weight in his arms. "But do not fear. He is near, and will not be far."

"Thank you, _melon nin_." She sighed, and settled her head against his shoulder, letting herself drift once again to the sweet sleep the gentle voice from the stars had coaxed her into.

Lalaith woke again, suddenly, surprised to find her senses fully returned. She remembered vaguely, being fed something, some warm liquid while she was sleeping, to help bring her strength back, herbs mixed in broth perhaps, but she could not remember.

She was been sleeping in an open glade, and glanced upward, blinking her eyes at the night sky, strewn with bright stars above her.

"Ah, Lady Lalaith. You are awake at last. I have been hoping you would waken soon." The voice across from her was filled with pleasure, and she sat up quickly, casting aside Boromir's cloak that had remained tucked about her and studied Haldir, seated not far from her, his back against a tree.

She brushed a hand through her loosened hair that fell down her back, pushing back the few strands that fell in front of her face.

"Lembas?" He asked, offering a broken corner from a wafer of elvish waybread. Lalaith realized then, that she was famished, and took it gratefully, knowing that though it was a morsel, it would satisfy her.

"Take more." He said, offering her another fragment. "You must recover your strength."

"Thank you, Haldir." Lalaith breathed as she took the second crumb, and chewed on the slightly sweet lembas. She swallowed, letting the warmth of the small morsels fill her empty stomach.

"Think not on it. It was my pleasure." Haldir said with a slight smile, his eyes reminding her, strangely, of Boromir's when he looked at her.

Lalaith dropped her eyes then, remembering that look. "Have you been-, happy, Haldir, since last I was here?" She asked quietly.

Haldir smiled softly, and nodded, although slowly. "I must admit my Lady, that for a time, my heart-," he gulped softly, and his smile quavered, "was pained. But as time passed, I realized you were right. That you-,"

"That I am far too fickle and childish to be the wife of one such as you?" She finished for him.

"I would hardly call you fickle and childish." Haldir smiled with an affectionate gaze.

"That you love being happy, and that you love to laugh are hardly flaws. You were right when you said that it would be unfair to me, and to yourself if you agreed to marry me when you did not love me." He glanced at a figure sleeping beside Lalaith and nodded at Legolas. "I am pleased to see that the one who has won your heart, is worthy of it."

Haldir smiled, though sadly. "I had suspected it was Prince Legolas then, who possessed your love, though even you did not yet fully know it. When he speaks of you, I can see that he has loved you all your life. He deserves you more than I did."

"I am sorry if I hurt you, Haldir." She said quietly.

"Do not be, Lalaith." Haldir smiled kindly. "Your words were wise. I have healed-, slowly."

"And have you found-," she hesitated, "another?"

"No," he shook his head, and glanced away. "My duties keep me occupied." He looked back at her quickly, and smiled. "But do not think it is because my heart is still fixed upon you. I still honor you, truly. But nothing more than that."

"Oh," she swallowed. "Well, one day, perhaps sooner than you realize, you will find someone who returns your love as you deserve, Haldir."

As she spoke, Lalaith's eyes strayed from him to a group of Lorien elves who stood not far away. Lothirien was among them, as if conversing with them quietly, though her eyes were on Haldir. "Perhaps she is nearer than you realize," Lalaith said, almost to herself.

Haldir sighed and looked down, taking a small bite from the same Lembas wafer he had torn the morsels from for Lalaith. "Perhaps." He said softly, his eyes moved as if he intended to look in Lothirien's direction, but then his gaze pulled back to Lalaith.

Lothirien lowered her eyes then, and turned away. Lalaith pursed her mouth, then turned her eyes to the side where Legolas lay, his breathing soft and even, his hand covering hers, which she had not moved from beneath his, even when she had awakened. Legolas was turned toward her, near enough for her to reach out and touch his face. Lalaith frowned suddenly as she studied his sleeping face. Why was he-, She glanced around at their other companions, scattered here and there, about her on the ground, sleeping.

Boromir was asleep on her other side, turned on his side to face her, as Legolas was. It was the same with Boromir as it was with all the others.

"Haldir," she demanded suddenly, "why are they all _blindfolded_?"

"By our law, for the Dwarf to come, it was necessary." Haldir smiled in remembrance, as if amused. "He refused unless Prince Legolas was blindfolded as well."

"Ohh!" Lalaith seethed, incensed. "A _plague_ on Gimli's stiff neck!"

Haldir smirked, thoroughly amused. "Those are near to the same words your beloved used."

"And so the dispute was solved by blindfolding them _all_?" She demanded.

"It was at Aragorn's proposal." Haldir insisted, lifting his hands in defense.

Lalaith's momentary wrath cooled slightly. "Prideful though he may be, it must have been difficult for Gimli to be singled out, and treated thusly after all that we endured in Moria." Lalaith felt a ragged breath pull at her lungs as she thought of their loss of Gandalf. "To be told he was not trusted, must have wounded him, for I know Gimli to be honest."

Haldir drew in a sharp breath as he shot a stern look at Gimli, snoring boisterously near the edge of the glade. Haldir clearly had no kind feelings for Dwarves, but Lalaith understood his animosity all too well, for she had felt it herself. "I do not doubt you." He agreed stiffly. "Yet, still it is our law."

"But Legolas is an elf as are we." Lalaith moved nearer to Legolas as if she intended to remove the blindfold, but Haldir's voice stopped her.

"Do not do that, my Lady." He bid her gently. "I am not the maker of the law, simply the keeper of it."

Lalaith sighed in acceptance and turned to face him again. "And where are we now? How long have I slept?"

"We are a half day's journey from Cerin Amroth, and Caras Galadhon. Aragorn stopped your bleeding and bound your wound. We dressed you in one of our tunics, as your own was torn and bloodstained. Since then, you have been sleeping for the better part of two days. We have traveled far in that time." He said. "And we are safe from orcs here in the Naith."

Lalaith grew silent then, noting what he had said about dressing her, and glanced down at herself, seeing for the first time, that she wore a new tunic, woven and fashioned in the style of the elves of Lothlórien. Lifting her eyes again, she shot Haldir a scathing, accusing look.

"And who Haldir-," she stammered tugging on the cloth of her new shirt, "who dressed me?"

At that, Haldir laughed outright, turning several heads of his comrades. It was not Haldir's way to laugh often. "Do not fear, dear Lady. _That_ was the work of Lothirien, our brave maiden. For myself, I swear I saw nothing, for it was Aragorn who dressed the wound with our herbs and bandages. Lothirien helped him, and she is the only one who saw any more than that."

Lalaith glanced at the elf maiden who smiled shyly and nodded at Haldir's words. At last, Lalaith released a sigh of relief, and turned once again to Legolas, who, in his sleep, was slowly caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

She moved her free hand, turned toward him, and ran a finger slowly along the strong line of his jaw. Legolas sighed softly, with deep contentment, and continued sleeping. "It is a pity, Haldir, that my love should walk blindfolded through Lórien when the sun shines so merrily, and the leaves are as gold."

Haldir's shoulders lifted and fell, and he nodded but said nothing.

"If Legolas must go blindfolded, then I will as well." She said, turning from Legolas to face Haldir.

Haldir's eyes disagreed. "My Lady, you are our kin. There is no need-,"

"I am one of this Fellowship, Haldir. If they must walk blindfolded, then I must as well. Now that I am awake, it is only right. As a keeper of your law, you can understand that."

Haldir raised his brows in reluctant consent, and reached beside him into a small pack drawing out another blindfold as Lalaith rose slowly, testing her legs, realizing she had not stood in days, since the moment she had collapsed into Haldir's arms and lost consciousness. Shaking Boromir's cloak out gently, she stepped toward the Man of Gondor, and knelt beside him.

"Thank you, Boromir, my friend." She said softly in the Common Tongue, though he could not hear her as she spread it over him, and tucked it about his broad shoulders.

And then, in that moment as she smoothed his cloak over his chest, Boromir's hand reached from beneath his cloak, and rested upon hers. "_Lalaith_." He breathed through his sleeping lips, intense, impassioned emotion overflowing in that one, soft word. For a moment, her thoughts turned to Haldir, and the look that seemed so similar to Boromir's when he looked at her. Her smooth forehead furrowed then as she quickly withdrew her hand, and stood up.

"It must be a great comfort, my Lady, to have so many devoted-, friends." Lalaith spun, feeling almost guilty, to see Haldir who had been waiting behind her with a broad strip of cloth.

"It-, it is." She stammered.

Haldir smiled sympathetically, and lifted the blindfold in offering, his eyebrows raised, silently questioning her.

With a sigh, Lalaith turned, and closed her eyes as she felt the silky fabric slide gently over her eyelids. Haldir's deft fingers gently tied the loose ends of the cloth at the back of her head, firmly covering her eyes, yet soft against her skin as well, and then his large, strong hands rested gently on her shoulders.

"You _are_ very fair, Lalaith." Haldir murmured softly against her loosened hair. "And there have been more men than I who have noticed."

"That may be, Haldir." Lalaith returned gently. "Yet you know I love none but Legolas."

Haldir sighed, patting her shoulders gently. "That, I can see. As can he. I have seen the acceptance of it in his eyes." Lalaith tilted her head, unsure of whom Haldir had referred to with his last words, but she seemed to sense that he had nodded toward Boromir as he had spoken. "But I fear you have still, unwittingly, taken more hearts than you are aware, _melon nin_."

"You have recovered, Haldir, and you are an Elf," she sighed wearily. "Others will as well."

"I hope so." He acquiesced with a kindly squeeze of her shoulders. "Now take your rest, my Lady. I have wearied you with talking. We have not far to go tomorrow, but you are still healing. You have given him his cloak back. Will you take mine?"

"No, Haldir, but thank you. The night is warm enough beneath these trees."

"Very well." Haldir agreed, and she felt him withdraw his hands.

She settled once again on the ground, and reached out, seeking Legolas' hand, and when she found its familiar warmth, she took it between both her hands, and let herself slip slowly in the realm of her dreams. She could sense Haldir's eyes on them, but could feel no jealously from him. Haldir was indeed a true friend and an honorable man who deserved to find love with one who loved him back. Soon, she hoped, he would notice Lothirien, as the maiden had clearly noticed him.

Lalaith woke to the welcome warmth of morning sunlight on her body as well as the warmth of Legolas' hand cradling her face. She could tell by the way he softly stirred, that he was awake already.

"Legolas." She sighed, slowly sitting up, and stretching slowly.

"_A_, Lalaith," Legolas sighed, rising to sit beside her. "You are awake."

"And blindfolded as well," She returned with a faint laugh.

"Indeed?" he asked, his hand seeking hers until he found it. His voice was faintly defensive. "Did Haldir-,"

"I am the one who insisted upon it, once I was awake," Lalaith cut it, giving his hand an answering squeeze. By the Valar, this was odd, she thought, unable to see him like this, though they sat side by side. "Haldir was reluctant, but I am one of the Fellowship, and should not be-"

Legolas suddenly cut her words off, with a sudden, unexpected, though not unwelcome kiss, against the corner of her mouth. He withdrew with a faint laugh.

"I missed," he chuckled.

"Not by far," she returned, offering his hand a squeeze which he returned.

"I see you have found that your intended bride has regained her strength," came Haldir's cheerful voice nearby. "Clearly, none is more grateful for her return to health, than you, Legolas Thranduilion." Haldir's voice sobered quickly, and he added in a more respectful tone, "One loss to your company is already more than enough." He sighed low, and finished, "The others are ready to begin. We will cover the last distance to our city before the sun reaches its zenith."

With a deep breath, Legolas rose at Haldir's words, and gently drew Lalaith up after him. Wavering on her feet, Lalaith quickly wove her fingers through Legolas' feeling secure with his nearness.

"My Lady?" She heard Haldir ask gently as he took her other hand lightly within his, and guided her forward.

"Of course, Haldir." She said with a nod, grateful to have someone she knew, in whom to trust as her guide through the forests and over the trails of Lothlorien.

With her senses cleared, she could now hear the sounds of others around her. The soft voices of the four hobbits came from behind her, and Gimli stirring and snorting beside them. Muffled footfalls from a pair of heavy feet, and a soft voice, as of one clearing his throat, told her where Boromir was. She could not hear Aragorn, even with her keen senses, but it was not surprising. He could be as quiet as an elf if he wished. They were making their way along a trail, all of them in a file, Haldir leading the way, with Lalaith's hand resting gently in his, while Legolas walked willingly behind her, his thumb softly tracing her knuckles as it always seemed to when he held her hand. Though she was uncertain how the others fared, Lalaith did not once stumble, even slightly, as they made their way along, so careful was Haldir's lead.

Legolas drew in a deep breath that swelled in his chest as their company passed beneath an open space where the warming sun filtered through, and touched their faces. "I wonder if the sun shines on the leaves of Lorien in hues of gold as I imagine them?"

"It does," Haldir's voice answered, and she could hear a kind smile in his voice. "But you know the face of the one whose hand you hold, Prince Legolas, and these woods do not outdo her beauty."

Lalaith's smile faded, and she felt her face grow warm. Further behind her, she heard a soft sigh, and heard within it, a hint of sadness. It was Lothirien's voice. For a fleeting moment, a childish whim seized her to kick Haldir in the back of the knee, and shout at him to look at the Lorien maiden, and see her beauty as well.

"Lalaith?" Boromir's voice, further behind the Lothlorien maiden, was filled with anxiety as he called out her name. "You are awake?"

"Yes, I am here, Boromir." She called softly in the Common Tongue as she unconsciously shrank closer to Legolas, remembering Boromir's reaction to her touch the night before, and Haldir's words afterwards. Hard for her to hear, yet truthful, she admitted to herself.

At Boromir's voice, the voices of the hobbits came at her as well.

"Lady Lalaith?" A small, anxious voice called. It was Pippin's voice, his mouth not surprisingly, was filled with food as he munched on what sounded like an apple, or some other fruit one of their guides must have given him. "Is that you?"

"It is, Pippin." She called in return. Are you and the other hobbits all well?"

"We're fine." The other three answered, echoing each other.

"Are you blindfolded, too?" Frodo called.

"I am," she called back. "I asked to be."

The hobbits' dear little voices lacked the usual merriment to which she was accustomed, but it was not surprising, for the pain of Gandalf's loss was too near the surface for any of them to be very cheerful.

"It is good to hear your voice, Lalaith." Aragorn's voice called to her closer to her than Boromir had been. He was speaking in the Common Tongue for the sake of Boromir and the hobbits. His voice paused a moment, then queried, "But why be blindfolded? You are known here."

"I am no better than any of the rest of you." She returned. "And I will not walk freely while Legolas is left without his sight."

Legolas' hand gently squeezed her own as murmurs of admiration came from her other companions, and even an approving grumble erupted from Gimli's throat.

"And you, Gimli?" She called out. "Are you well?"

"The elf-girl actually asked about _me_. Imagine that." Gimli said gruffly, as if speaking to himself, though his voice was intentionally loud enough for everyone else to hear. He then spoke up and called out, "I'm fine."

Boromir had not spoken since the hobbits had, and Lalaith turned her words back in his direction.

"I must thank you, Boromir, for the use of your cloak." She said, trying to keep her voice light. "It was thoughtful of you."

"T'was no sacrifice, my Lady." He breathed, his soft voice trembling slightly, and fighting emotion.

A commotion from further ahead interrupted them, and Lalaith's senses suddenly became strung, until she heard the sound of their guides greeting the coming group, and many voices, friendly voices answered, speaking in Elvish all around her.

"Haldir," one of the new voices called, as one elf rushed toward them where Haldir had halted.

"What is it?" Haldir's voice asked sternly of the breathless elf.

"We are in haste toward the northern borders to guard against possible attack from Moria, but we have come to bring you news." He reported quickly. "The marauding orcs have been waylaid, and nearly all destroyed. The remnant fled westward to the mountains."

"That is good news." Haldir's voice answered, waiting for him to continue.

"Also, there was seen a strange creature, not one of the orcs, running with a bent back and hands near the ground, much like a beast in its movements, but not of beast-shape. We did not shoot it, not knowing whether it was evil or good. It vanished down the Silverlode stream, southward."

Lalaith felt herself shudder, and heard a soft moan come from Frodo's throat behind her as well. She and he both knew, instinctively, who the creature was, the elves had seen.

"Also," the elf finished, his voice turned now, toward their group, "we bring a message from the Lord and Lady. They are all to walk free, even the dwarf. The Lady knows who and what is each member of their Company."

The elf spoke his farewells, and then with a rustle of grass, the company of elves was gone as swiftly as it had appeared.

Lalaith could not withhold a gasp of delight as she heard the words again in the Common Tongue as Aragorn quickly translated them for the others, and her hand fell from Haldir's soft grasp, as she felt Legolas' hand leave hers as his fingers lightly traced along the lines of her arms, her throat, and her face as he found the knotted blindfold, reached behind her head, deftly unknotted the cloth, and drew the bandage away from her eyes.

She blinked quickly in the soft golden light of the woods, Legolas' welcome face, still blindfolded, taking up most of her vision. Quickly lifting her own hands, she slipped them behind his head, as he had done for her, found the knot of cloth, and quickly loosened it. A smile spread across her lips as she gathered the soft swathe of cloth in her hands as it fell away from his eyes, and he opened them, blue as a cloudless sky, catching her heart on a beat as he blinked them quickly, focused on her, and smiled.

"Lalaith-," he breathed in no more than a whisper as he touched her face, and smoothed his fingers through her unbound hair, studying her carefully, as if wanting to memorize every detail of her face. "I am glad to see you awake, I was worried-" he cut off, as if not knowing how to speak his thoughts.

He looked upward at the trees above them wreathed in golden leaves, with spears of sunlight piercing through, and giving the very air about them a golden sheen.

His hand found hers once again.

"They are beautiful," she murmured, squeezing his hand.

He turned to look at her, and grinned. "But Haldir is right. Their beauty does not outdo yours."

"Lalaith," She turned to see Aragorn standing near, a small smile on his face.

"Oh, Aragorn." She sniffed softly, and stepped forward to embrace him, planting a kiss on his scruffy cheek. "Thank you. Haldir told me what you and Lothirien did to help me."

He grinned, and clapped her shoulder gently. "It was nothing. You've always been as a sister to me, after all, melon nin."

Beyond Aragorn's shoulder, she could see Boromir. His head was down, his eyes looking hard at the ground, and his chest was rising and falling with repressed emotion.

Lalaith gulped hard, then drew back, smiling once again into Aragorn's face.

"Your pardon!" Haldir's voice came now from beyond Boromir. He had moved down the trail, and she turned to see Haldir, just as he removed the blindfold from Gimli's eyes.

Gimli shook his head, blinking hard, and squinting upward at the trees about him, Haldir bowed before Gimli, and said in a voice, more generous than she had expected, "Look on us now with friendly eyes. Look and be glad, for you are the first dwarf to behold the trees of the Naith of Lorien since Durin's day."

Gimli smiled and slapped Haldir's arm in a friendly gesture, almost knocking him over, but Haldir simply smiled slightly, and started away from him, back toward Lalaith, and the front of the column. As he passed Lothirien, she looked up at him and offered him a hopeful, wide eyed smile, but he barely acknowledged the elf maiden, who then dropped her eyes, and sighed once again, when he had passed.

When Haldir marched past the two humans, however, the Lorien elf's eyes focused on Boromir, and by Haldir's expression, Lalaith could see that he guessed the Man's unspoken ache, as she had. When he had joined her once again, the tall elf turned his eyes on her for a moment, and offered her a quick, sympathetic smile before he spoke.

"We are not far. Cerin Amroth is but over the next ridge. Come."

At his words, the company started again, all in a single file, with the exception of Legolas and Lalaith, who walked side by side, their fingers interwoven. Legolas' eyes flicked between the golden treetops, and the light of Lalaith's face, his gaze almost hungry in each instance, as if he could not fill his senses with enough of the sight of each.

As the company drew to the top of the final ridge, and the trees cleared, the hill of Cerin Amroth came into view, its majestic trees bathed gloriously in a shower of golden sunlight. Lalaith had been here before, but as always, the sight was wondrous and breathtaking to her, and even to Haldir, whose home was here, as he gazed upon it with delight.

"Caras Galadhon." He said reverently. "The heart of Elvendom on Earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn, and of Galadriel, Lady of Light."

_Lady Galadriel, and Lord Celeborn_. Lalaith repeated their names in her mind as the company started down the other side of the ridge. Two who were as grandparents to her. She remembered being dandled on Celeborn's knee, and the little gowns Galadriel had given her as a tiny child. It had never mattered to them that she was not of their blood. She had been treated no differently than Arwen or her brothers. Lalaith drew in a deep breath, and released it slowly. Here, they would find help, and much needed rest. The danger of their quest suddenly seemed less treacherous, less perilous, at least for the moment.


	16. Chapter 15

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 15**

**October 4, 2005** _Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

The soft glow of the lamps of Caras Galadhon flowed down across Lalaith in a cool, refreshing shower of silver light as Haldir guided them up the silver steps weaving around the massive trees of Lorien among the branches and the buildings perched among them, toward the throne room of the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim.

Sound was muted to a soft hush as they stepped onto the talan that lay beneath the steps which flowed down from the thrones above them where Celeborn and Galadriel stood, a guard standing somberly at each side of their dais. Celeborn offered his hand to Galadriel as the two slowly, regally, descended the steps toward their waiting guests. All here seemed as light and soft music, and as Lalaith glanced at her companions, she could see the awe in their faces, and the light in their eyes, the hobbits, especially, seemed deeply impressed. Lalaith felt great reverence, and peace, but no unearthly awe as the others seemed to, for she had been here before, her first introduction to Celeborn and Galadriel when she was a tiny child, long before she could remember. She thought of them as her grandparents. She had seen them laugh. And even now, Lalaith restrained a smile, remembering the time as a child when she and Arwen had unwittingly stumbled upon the two of them alone, kissing like young lovers, and the incessant teasing that she and Arwen had plagued them with for years afterwards. She remembered screeching in delight when Lord Celeborn would catch her and tickle her, and she knew that Lady Galadriel, for all her regal demeanor, and the silver flowing robes she now wore, had not been above playing with her in flowering meadows, kneeling with her in the grass and gathering Lalaith into her lap when she was drowsy, singing her to sleep in the midst of the scent of flowers, and the droning buzz of bees.

Lady Galadriel surveyed the Fellowship before her with stately calm, smiling only briefly as her gaze passed over Lalaith.

"The enemy knows you have entered here." Lord Celeborn spoke at last, bringing Lalaith's thoughts back to the sobering weight of the present. "What hope you had in secrecy is now gone."

Lalaith drew in a heavy sigh, and glanced downward.

"Nine there are here, but ten there were, set out from Rivendell." Celeborn continued. "Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."

The very name caused a fresh pang of grief to pierce Lalaith's heart, and she drew in a quick breath of air at the sudden pain.

"_Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land_." The voice was Lady Galadriel's, but her lips did not move, and Lalaith realized she had heard Galadriel's thoughts.

"He has fallen into shadow." Galadriel spoke now, her voice quiet with sadness.

Celeborn turned and looked at his wife, his expression one of subdued disbelief.

"He was taken by both Shadow and flame." Lalaith offered quietly, the first to speak. But she found her voice suddenly choked, and she could speak no further.

"A Balrog of Morgoth." Legolas finished for her, a trace of bitterness in his otherwise smooth voice. "For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

The expression that came upon Celeborn's face was enough to rend Lalaith's heart, and she glanced down, and would have begun to cry again herself, but for Legolas' hand that quickly found and enclosed her own.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his full purpose." Galadriel's smooth voice, gentle and firm at once, brought Lalaith's head up again. Galadriel's eyes rested on hers. _You are more than what any of us know, my dear one_. Galadriel's voice seemed to echo in Lalaith's mind as their eyes locked. _Remain true to your course, and you will defeat the darkness that waits to lay claim on you_.

Lalaith's breath caught in her throat as Galadriel smiled gently. Galadriel's eyes, youthful yet filled with the wisdom of ages surveyed the others of the Fellowship before her, and came to rest on Gimli who stood sighing in front of Lalaith and Legolas, with his head down.

"Do not let the emptiness of Khazad-Dum fill your heart, Gimli, son of Gloin." Galadriel said to the dwarf, her voice laden with infinite gentleness. "For the world has grown full of peril, and in all lands, love is now mingled with grief." As she finished her words, her eyes found Boromir, and though Lalaith could not turn her eyes to the Man, she could hear him stifle a sob, quiet, and muffled.

_For what, for whom_? Lalaith asked her mind. _For his people_? Probably. He loved them, and felt a great burden of duty to them. His love for them would indeed be mingled with grief, his fear of their fall. But could his emotion also be for her? She hoped not. But as she glanced at Haldir who stood silently to the side, she could see clearly by the way he glanced pityingly between her and the human, what he thought Boromir's secret thoughts might be.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship?" Celeborn now added. "Without Gandalf, hope is now lost."

"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife." Galadriel spoke, her voice firm, her eyes flashing. "Stray but a little, and it will fail, to the ruin of all." As she said this again, her eyes turned back to Boromir, and now, Lalaith risked a glance at him to see his tormented expression. Lalaith could look no more, and turned away.

"Yet hope remains while the company is true." The heaviness of Galadriel's voice lifted as her glance rested on Sam, and her expression grew softer. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep well." As she spoke these last words she glanced at Frodo with great interest, and Lalaith suddenly realized that Galadriel knew without question, the importance of the small hobbit's role in their Fellowship. With a quick glance at Frodo, Lalaith could tell that Frodo was deeply affected by Lady Galadriel's gaze, and guessed that he was hearing words from Galadriel's mind that no other could hear. What those words could be, though, Lalaith could not even begin to guess.

Lalaith lay upon her back upon a soft, downy bed placed within a tent of iridescent silk, nestled between the jutting roots of one of the great Mallorn trees of the forest. She was separated only by a short flight of steps and a single tree trunk from her companions, but she felt as if they were leagues away, having grown so used to having them all about her for so long. This, though, did give her a chance at privacy for once. She had been provided a bath, and had been able to wash herself thoroughly for the first time in uncounted weeks, to cleanse her skin and her hair from the grime of travel, and the stench of orc blood. She wore now a soft gown of shimmering white that Galadriel's maids had presented her with. Its neck was scooped, and its smooth, tapering sleeves hung delicately from the edges of her shapely shoulders, while the gown itself clung to her body in a way that flattered her slender form, and made her feel beautiful and feminine, a sensation she had not felt since she left Imladris. Still, she was sad. Her fingers were laced together behind her head as tear after tear rolled down her cheek, wetting the pillow beneath her head. She was alone now with her thoughts, and could focus now on her memories of Gandalf.

Her earliest memory of him, was when she was a child, little more than twenty or thirty, she guessed, when she met him for the first time. She had been playing in the gardens of Imladris. Legolas was with her on one of his many visits, she remembered, pushing her on a swing of flowering vines when Gandalf had approached them, and had begged permission to show the little Lady a small trick. Lalaith smiled at the memory. It was the first time in her life anyone had ever called her a _lady_. She had been shy of the grey clad, tall, bearded stranger in the funny hat at first, and had only approached him shyly at Legolas' gentle urging. And then, to her delight, in his bare hand, appeared the image of a flower, a lovely red flower with a green stem, and curling leaves, only it was made entirely of flames, and amazingly, was not hot to touch when he surrendered it into her own tiny hands. It felt like fluid, she remembered, as if she were holding solid water. She had laughed gleefully, and had held it up for Legolas to see, and he had knelt at her side, his own face beaming, more at her childish delight, than at the flower. And then it sparked and fizzled away. But though the flower had lasted for only a few moments, Gandalf had succeeded in winning her unfaltering devotion, which had endured for the rest of his life. Little had she known, at their first meeting, that she would be there to witness the end of that long, noble life.

"My Lady?" The voice was quiet and soft, and Lalaith quickly sat up, recognizing Lothirien's polite voice coming from beyond her tent door.

"Come in, Lothirien." She said, quickly rubbing her hands beneath her eyes as the maiden entered, carrying a silver hairbrush in her hands. Lothirien had changed as well from tunic and breeches to a light gown of sky blue, setting off the color of her gentle eyes. Her hair, also, had been untwined, and rolled down her back in gentle waves of gold. Oh, if only Haldir were here to see her, as lovely as she looked right now.

"I came to see if there was anything more you needed, my Lady." She said, smiling shyly until she saw the tears upon Lalaith's cheeks, and her smile faded to a look of profound sympathy. "Why do you cry, my Lady?" She asked, coming to the bed and sitting beside Lalaith.

"I am remembering Mithrandir." She answered quietly. "Did you ever meet him?"

"I have seen him." Lothirien looked downward. "But I did not know him as well as you did." Lothirien looked up at her, her own eyes now shimmering. "I am glad you knew him so well, but I am also sorry too, for now your grief is greater, for you were his friend." Lothirien reached out, and took Lalaith's hand. Lalaith squeezed gently, not realizing until now, how much she had missed the companionship of a fellow maiden.

Tears again began to start in Lalaith's eyes, and she turned to brush them away, and it was then that she felt the soft pull of the brush through her hair as Arwen used to do.

"Oh, Lothirien." Lalaith sighed. "I am so sorry."

"Sorry?" Lothirien asked, perplexed, her brushing pausing for a moment before resuming. "Whatever have you done, that you should be sorry?"

"It has been fifty years since I was here last." Lalaith returned. "I had hoped he would find someone else in that time."

"_He_, my Lady?" Lothirien murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Haldir."

At the mention of his name, Lothirien's brushing immediately stopped.

Lalaith bit her lip softly and turned to face Lothirien. She swallowed, and asked pointedly, "Do you love Haldir, Lothirien?"

At this, Lothirien's flush only deepened, giving her answer before she spoke. "More than my own life, my Lady." She murmured, dropping her eyes to her lap and setting the brush aside. "But I fear to speak to him. He loved you very much, and his heart was wounded deeply by your rejection."

"Lothirien!" Lalaith chided gently. "Do you think that because he once loved me, that he is doomed now to love no other? He is stronger than that! And you are so lovely, and kind and brave! Surely Haldir sees all this! Perhaps these last years he has been growing to love you without knowing it. There is still hope for you."

Lothirien looked up at Lalaith, tears shimmering in the rims of her eyes. "Is there indeed hope? He goes to pains to ignore me. Even when we are out patrolling, he does not speak to me unless he must. He is not cruel, he has never been. He is not that kind of man, but his silence still wounds me. I am certain he does not feel for me as you hope. I could never-,"

"Lady Lalaith?"

Lalaith noted how Lothirien's face suddenly froze in an expression of mixed fear and longing at the voice outside the door. Haldir's.

"Perhaps I should go now, my Lady." She mumbled hurriedly, and stood up.

"No, Lothirien stay. Here is your chance to speak to him." Lalaith implored.

"No, no." Lothirien moaned quietly and turned away. "I must go."

Lothirien brushed hurriedly through the door of the tent, nearly colliding into Haldir's chest.

Haldir glanced in surprise at Lothirien, not having expected to see her, opened his mouth, shut it again, and then turned to Lalaith who came scurrying behind. "I, I came to see if there was anything more you needed, Lalaith," he stammered.

"No, Haldir, but thank you for your thoughtfulness." Lalaith said with a slight bow, glancing quickly at Lothirien who was poised like a frightened deer, ready to flee.

Lothirien gulped, and at Lalaith's encouraging glance, ventured, "Are- are you well, Lord Haldir?"

Haldir glanced at Lothirien as if surprised, and he stammered a moment, before he answered. "Yes, thank you, Lothirien." He gulped. "And you?"

Lothirien gulped, and hesitated. "I-," she breathed, but Haldir had already turned back to Lalaith.

"Are you certain there is nothing more you need?" he asked again.

"Oh," Lothirien sighed behind him, and turned away, starting up the long flight of steps that led higher into the heart of Caras Galadhon, sighing brokenly as she went.

Lalaith scowled deeply into Haldir's eyes as the Lorien maiden hurried away. "Haldir," she said, her tone stiff.

"What?" He asked, perplexed.

"Oh, come in here." She said, and grabbed the front of his tunic, pulling him through her door, and letting it fall shut behind him.

"What is it, my Lady?" He repeated, confused. He had to bend slightly, to keep his head from scraping the ceiling. "Lalaith, have I offended you?" Haldir asked quietly.

"No, but-," Lalaith's voice grew silent. Having her grief at losing Gandalf renewed, and now feeling concern for Lothirien's unspoken love for Haldir, while noting how shreds of Haldir's old emotion yet lingered, was overwhelming, and she dropped onto her bed, putting her head in her hands.

"What is it?" Haldir repeated, sitting beside her in the same spot where Lothirien sat, and placing a hand gently on her shoulder.

Lalaith straightened, turned to look him fully in the face. "Did you not notice how lovely Lothirien looked just now?"

Haldir's face colored faintly at this, and a slight smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "Yes," he murmured at last, his voice and face softened. "Yes, I did notice."

"Indeed?" Lalaith murmured as hope leapt in her heart. "But you barely looked at her."

Haldir ducked his eyes at this. "I rarely dare to look at her," he said softly. "She is truly a wonder, Lothirien is. An amazing guard, and a fearless warrior, and yet so-," he paused a moment, searching for words. "So lovely," a deep breath swelled in his chest, "So that I dare not look at her, for fear that I will lose my head, and forget my duty, and make a fool of myself." "Would it pain you to know, melon nin," Lalaith ventured, "that she misinterprets your silence as disapproval?

"But-," Haldir murmured, releasing a soft breath, stopped himself, sat back, and drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it. "Ohh," he murmured, and it almost sounded like a moan of pain. "Does she? Did she tell you this?"

At Lalaith's nod, Haldir's shoulders drooped. "I have not intended that. Lothirien is a maid one cannot help but admire. I have seen the eyes of others on her, and I know that they can see her strength and beauty as I can." He looked at Lalaith with a grimace of consternation. "If I've hurt her, then I am a monstrous fool. I never wished to."

"You admire her, then," Lalaith asked carefully "How could I not?" Haldir spouted, almost vehemently, then added in a thoughtful murmur, without looking at Lalaith, "I have known her since we were children. We have been friends for thousands of years. When I realized that I loved you, and had hopes to earn your love in return, I shared those hopes with Lothirien, and she was happy for me. And she wept with me when I learned you did not love me back." Haldir sighed, and began upon another vein, "When I think of her now, I realize that there much between us that I dare not think on for fear that perhaps I would be wrong, as I was wrong to pursue you." He looked up at Lalaith, his jaw tightening. "What if I am meant only to serve? Never to possess such a thing of goodness and beauty as is Lothirien?"

"Haldir, " Lalaith said softly. She reached out, gently touching the back of Haldir's hand. "The way you speak of her, I almost suspect that you love her."

"I could not speak of such things," Haldir choked, his voice pained. "Not to anyone."

"Not to me, perhaps," Lalaith smiled softly. "But could you say such things to her?"

" I've been a fool." Haldir moaned, rising to his feet and beginning to pace back and forth before Lalaith. "It- It is my fault, my folly, not hers. What makes you think she would want to listen to anything I have to say?"

"What if not speaking to her, hurt her?" Lalaith returned.

Haldir lifted his hands and let them fall against his thighs. "Then I would find her, and pour out all my thoughts to her, before another moment was wasted."

Lalaith tilted her head and grinned. "Then why waste another moment?"

"What should I _say_ to her?" He asked helpless, drawing to a stop.

"Anything. It does not matter." Lalaith insisted. "Whatever is in your heart."

"Very well." Haldir said. He strode to the door, and drew it aside, then turned to face Lalaith who had followed behind him.

"My Lady, you remember when we were in the Naith, the night you awoke? Do you remember how I told you that there was none who equaled your beauty?"

Lalaith gulped and nodded. She had been embarrassed and perplexed, and sorry for Lothirien, who had overheard their conversation.

"I _was_ right." Haldir gulped. "You have your own beauty, as Thranduilion would certainly agree. But-," his brows knitted thoughtfully, "but in my eyes, in her own way, Lothirien has grown far more beautiful." He furrowed his brow. "My saying that does not hurt you, does it?"

Lalaith's lips parted in a smile, and she reached up, placing a hand gently against Haldir's cheek. "You do not know how comforting it is, to hear you say that." She sighed. She turned and glanced up the steps to see Lothirien's figure still visible, taking the steps slowly, without enthusiasm. "Now, go to her, before any more time passes."

Haldir grinned like a child, took Lalaith by both of her shoulders and kissed her cheek soundly before he released her, and darted up the steps after Lothirien's departing figure.

Lalaith smiled after him, but her smile faded as soft singing came to her ears, drifting down from the reaches above her, at once both beautiful and melancholy. Lalaith's head drooped wearily, and she made her way to the strong trunk of the nearest tree, leaned her forehead against its cool, smooth bark and let the tears and the memories come again, heedless of them as she listened to the lovely, yet poignant words of a song the Lorien elves were singing that mourned Gandalf's loss as they echoed quietly through the trees.

"A lament for Gandalf." Legolas said quietly, his voice coming from below her, down the steps, accompanied by the soft musical splash of a fountain.

"What do they say about him?" Merry's voice, usually cheery and bright, was little more than a restrained murmur now.

"I have not the heart to tell you." Legolas said in a subdued voice that wrenched at Lalaith's heart. "For me, the grief is still too near."

Pushing away from the trunk of the great Mallorn tree, Lalaith turned, and started slowly down the steps, suddenly wanting the comfort of Legolas' presence, and that of her other companions. Gimli's company, or even Boromir's would be welcome now.

"I bet they don't mention his fireworks." Sam muttered. "There should be a verse about them."

Lalaith reached the bottom of the steps, and stepped lightly toward the glittering, splashing fountain, thoughtfully running her hand beneath the softly clattering water. As quiet as her tred was, not even Legolas turned. Boromir was the only one who noticed her approach. He was seated apart from the others, his chin in his hand, a troubled expression on his face. As she watched the cool water running through her fingers, he glanced up at her, eyed her visage up and down, his eyes traveling slowly as he did, before he stood, drew in a deep breath, and turned away, tromping down a soft slope of earth, and seated himself heavily on a jutting root, almost hidden by the trunk of the tree under which he sat, and turned his face away from her to be alone in his own private musings. Lalaith was aware of his gaze, and his abrupt exit, but did not dare to so much as look up at him.

Sam, not noticing either Lalaith's approach, or Boromir's departure, stood beneath the silken pavilion under which his bed and those of the others had been lain, straightening his small frame up as high as he could, and began to recite:

"_The finest rockets ever seen. They burst in stars of blue and green. Or after thunder, silver showers, came falling like a rain of flowers._

"Oh, that doesn't do them justice by a long road." He moaned, flopping back down again.

"I think it was beautiful, Sam." Lalaith said quietly, turning all of their heads, except for Gimli, who was already asleep, snoring noisily, as was his way.

Aragorn smiled softly in agreement to Lalaith's words, then stood slowly up, and made his way in Boromir's direction, an expression of concern on his face. But Lalaith barely noticed him leaving as Legolas approached her, his expression still somber, though there was the hint of a smile on his lips that showed her he was glad she had come down to them. He had changed as she had, donning a silver gray tunic, stitched with intricate embroidery, and breeches of only a slightly darker color. Most captivating to her, though, were his eyes, sorrowful, and vulnerable, giving him an endearing, childlike look.

"Lalaith." He murmured simply, as he slid his hands into hers, weaving his fingers through hers as he leaned toward her, and rested his forehead lightly against her own, closing his eyes, and drawing in a deep breath while the fountain continued its melody behind them, and the melancholy tones of the sweet song mourning Gandalf continued, unceasing from above.

How long they stood like this, Lalaith could not tell. Only that, when the last strains of the song floated away through the trees, and she looked up, she suddenly felt the heat of eyes on her, and glanced around. Gimli was still asleep, snoring, as always, and the hobbits were all sleeping now as well. Aragorn had returned, Boromir with him, and the two humans were settling quietly in for the night. But while Aragorn had turned his gaze away from the two lovers, Boromir was watching them, his countenance shaded, and rather sad, glancing away from the elves now and again only to look back, as if the sight caused him pain, but he could not help but look.

Lalaith shut her eyes tightly and turned once again to Legolas, sighing as she drew back from him. "Oh, Legolas, I am sorry. We must both take our rest. I am keeping you from yours."

Straining up on her toes, she brushed his cheek softly with her own, then gently releasing his hands, turned away. Lightly catching up the hem of her skirt, she glided back up the steps, only to stop outside her door when she heard the light tred of Legolas coming behind her.

"Something, more than Gandalf's death, troubles you, Lalaith." He said simply, coming to her, and stopping behind her. "If you wish to speak your heart, I am willing to listen." He sat down upon one of the jutting roots that encircled her tent and watched her silently.

Drawing in a deep breath, Lalaith nodded and took the spot beside him, without looking at him. "I pity Boromir." She murmured. "He seems so sad. He loves his people so, Legolas, and he fears their fall. He is so young, and unlearned, and I am afraid for him. He feels the power of the One Ring, and I fear he will do something rash. Nothing deliberately evil or dishonorable, for his heart is still good. But he is weak."

"I know another whose heart is good." He said quietly, drawing near and resting his hands gently on her shoulders, his thumbs softly caressing her smooth skin. "Good enough to feel the pains of mortals when others of the Eldar would think them unworthy of their notice."

Lalaith turned her head half way to see his hand, her ring on his smallest finger. "You know I love none but you, Legolas, do you not?"

"I do." Legolas murmured, circling his arms around her waist, and pressing a kiss against her neck through the blanket of her hair. By his tone, Lalaith understood that Legolas too, had noticed Boromir's affection. But there was no animosity in his voice, no desire to put the mortal in his place, and remind him to whom Lalaith truly belonged. Legolas, like Lalaith, pitied him as well.

Folding her own hands over his, Lalaith surrendering to his gentle touch, and leaned back against his chest with a sigh, resting her head against his shoulder, content in his embrace.

After long moments, Legolas drew in a deep breath, and began to sing softly, his voice low and sweet, in words and melody Lalaith had never heard before. Her eyes closed, and her breathing softened as Legolas' words enveloped and embraced her like a warm mantle.

"_Im melin le, lalaith nin. Le na ithilamin, le na anoramin, run a annun. Im melin le, lalaith nin. Le na oreamin, le na elenamin, arda a menel. An le na coiamin, a lalaithamin. Im melin le._" *

Lalaith sighed and snuggled ever closer into his arms, and in the companionable silence that passed between them following his song, neither was aware of the slim, solitary figure who approached them, slowly descending the steps, her bare feet beneath her shimmering silver gown making not the slightest noise as the soft breeze in the trees gently caught at her long, golden hair.

"Lalaith, my dear." Galadriel called softly, gently rousing the young lovers who opened their eyes to see her.

"My Lady." Lalaith murmured, drawing herself to her feet, and dropping in a small curtsy.

Legolas followed suit, and rose, bending his head in reverence before the Lady of the Galadhrim.

"Will you look into the mirror, Lalaith?" Galadriel asked quietly, her eyes kindly but intently fixed on the maiden.

"I have looked so many times before, my Lady." Lalaith answered humbly. "It has never shown me any more than I already know. Would it be different this time?"

"I have formless premonitions that portend to something, but as to the answer you seek, not even I know it, dear one." Galadriel smiled. "The mirror shows many things. Perhaps now you are ready to learn more. To see who you really are, and to learn the answers to your many questions."

Lalaith drew in a long sigh. "Then I will look again." She said with a soft bow of her head. She turned then, to Legolas, and with sudden, childlike need, held out her hand to him. "Will you stay with me?" She pleaded. "I need you."

Legolas caught her hand within his, glancing into her eyes, then at Lady Galadriel, his own gaze uncertain, but hopeful.

"Your life, Prince Legolas, is already inseparably entwined with hers." Galadriel said gently, answering his unspoken question. "Not only are you worthy to see what is it she will see, but as difficult as it may be for you, it is necessary, if you wish for her to someday be your own."

An expression of humbled awe came over his face as Legolas inclined his head. "Thank you, my Lady." He said, his warm fingers weaving through Lalaith's, and tightening gently.

Lalaith looked into his eyes and tried to smile in spite of the troubled feelings beginning to turn in her heart at what Galadriel had told him. Difficult? How would it be difficult for her to see her past? But no, Galadriel had already made it clear, or seemed to, that it would be difficult only for Legolas. But then it would ultimately be so for Lalaith, as well.

"Do not be afraid." Legolas murmured, guessing her thoughts and gently guiding Lalaith forward as Galadriel turned and led them slowly down the steps, near enough for them to follow her, but far enough ahead that she could lend them a portion of solitude. "I made a vow to you in Imladris, Lalaith. Do you remember?" He asked, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. "The day you gave me this." He lifted his left hand and showed her, the ring she'd given him. "They day we promised ourselves to each other."

Lalaith nodded shyly, remembering the kiss they'd shared, unlike the first time he'd kissed her when she had broken away, her heart heavy with feelings of unworthiness. It had been their second kiss, the sweetest, and warm with promise.

"I meant what I said then, and I meant it now, as I sang to you." Legolas vowed, lifting her chin gently with a finger and fixing his eyes steadily on hers, a gentle smile coming to his lips "You are my world, Lalaith. I will stay beside you, no matter what difficulty we face together."

Lalaith returned his smile, the last shreds of her concern vanishing like traces of spider-web on the wind.


	17. Chapter 16

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 16**

**October 11, 2005** _Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Lalaith paused at the base of the steps that descended down through the trees passing beneath overarching roots, and into the grotto surrounding the Mirror of Galadriel, her breath coming faster as she and Legolas grew closer to the basin where the Lady of the Galadhrim stood, tall and regal, pouring a clear, steady stream of water from a silver pitcher.

Lalaith glanced at Galadriel's face as she drew her pitcher back, and retreated several steps, smiling her encouragement, and nodding to Lalaith. With a deep breath, Lalaith drew near to the Mirror, wondering what she would see this time. She rested her hands gently at the edge and peered down into the water, still rippling faintly, and into the eyes of her reflection, seeing a face that was sober, and expectant, but which softened as Legolas' reflection appeared beside her own, and smiled gently. Legolas' hand cupped her shoulder, and she reached up, taking it into her own, comforted by the feel of his warm fingers clasping hers.

Lalaith's heart caught on a beat as the reflection in the water shifted and changed, darkening to a night sky above a green plain. Once again, as she had seen before, she saw the dark shape of the horse, Rorin, his nostrils flared in terror, as he raced across the plain, her nurse upon his back, the old woman's face twisted with the agony of her wounds, but still clutching Lalaith's tiny infant body against her own as the five orcs and their wolf mounts came galloping behind them.

One drew level with them, and the black shaft of the arrow from its bow flew through the flesh beneath the horse's foreleg, entering Rorin's heart, the poor horse dead before he hit the ground. Though she had seen it before, Lalaith caught a sob in her throat, and quickly gulped it down as the scene continued, her nurse, using her own mortally wounded body as a shield, still clutching the baby to her as she staggered, and tried to run. Lalaith could sense, as she had before, the mortal woman's fear and hopelessness. The woman had been certain then, that her tiny charge would be killed, but she would not let her be taken without giving all she could to save her.

And then, as before, out of the night, the vision of Legolas appeared, his bow strung, his arrow flying true into the heart of the first wolf, that crumpled, then rolled, and crushed its orc rider. Beside her, Lalaith felt his hand tightened upon her shoulder.

Within a matter of only a few moments, the other orcs and the wolves they had ridden upon, were dead, scattered across the grass of the plain, and the image of Legolas stood alone, his white knives in both his fists, his chest heaving with exertion, his countenance fired with indignation.

But as he turned and darted to the woman's side, his face, just as quickly, took on a look of tender compassion as he replaced his knives, and his bow.

Lalaith drew in a long sigh, and she felt Legolas' hand slide to her waist, steadying her as the woman smoothed the cloth away from the face of her tiny charge, and the image of Legolas in the mirror saw the infant's sleeping face for the first time, so tiny, and helpless, but also so beautiful.

The baby who had been Lalaith stirred now, and opened sleepy eyes, seeing him. Lalaith could almost remember this moment, buried in the recesses of her memory, his hands cradling her tiny body, were strong, yet so gentle, his face, his eyes, so captivating.

The mortal woman spoke, though Lalaith could not hear her words.

"'_Her father, mother, dead. Rivendell, kin_.'" Legolas said quietly, reciting the woman's final words from his memory. "'_Elrond_.'" Within the mirror, the woman's silent lips formed the words that Legolas spoke, "'_Lalaith_.'"

The response Legolas gave was silent, but seemed to content the woman who nodded wearily, and lay her head down upon her arm, closing her eyes.

The image faded, blurred, and the mirror grew dark, reflecting only the faces of herself and Legolas as they peered down into the water.

Lalaith sighed. This was where it had ended, so many times before. She almost released the edge of the basin, almost stepped back, when something happened. Bright light erupted from the mirror, white and blinding, and enveloped Lalaith within it. She gasp, and tried to stumble back from the mirror, when she realized that the mirror was no longer there. She was not even in Lothlorien, any more. She peered about her, seeing that Galadriel, and Legolas were no longer with her, but that she was surrounded by light, white and penetrating. Fear gripped her heart, but faded as a kindly voice spoke nearby.

"Do not be afraid, young one." It was a male voice, and Lalaith turned to see what appeared to be a young elf near her, the only being she could see in the midst of the light. He was clothed in blue robes, flowing as the waves of the sea. His hair was long and dark, almost black, but his eyes were blue and bright, and kindly as they looked on her.

"Where am I? Where is Lady Galadriel, and Legolas?" Lalaith asked quietly. "And who are you?"

"You are in a dream created by the Vala Irmo, the master of visions and dreams." He explained gently. "The Lady of the Galadhrim and your love are still beside you, for your physical form is still within Lothlorien. They are seeing all that you see, but only through the mirror. And I am Ossë."

"Ossë of the Maiar, the servant of Ulmo, the Vala of water?" Lalaith breathed quietly, her mind rushing, as she wondered what his appearance meant.

He smiled, and nodded, extended his hand. "My master, at the bidding of your father, has sent me from Valinor, and I have come by way of the rivers and the streams here to the waters of Lothlorien to be your guide."

"My father?" Lalaith asked, slipping her hand into his. "But he is dead. His spirit resides in the Halls of Mandos. So said the mortal woman who saved me as a baby."

Ossë smiled gently and shook his head. He was leading her, and she was walking beside him, but the light about them did not change. But for the movement of her feet, she would not have known she was going anywhere at all. "Well meaning that she was," Ossë said, "the daughter of the Secondborn of Iluvatar, was mistaken. Your father lives, as does your mother. Indeed, they cannot die."

"How-," Lalaith stammered, "how is this possible? For even Elves can be slain in battle, or we can pass to the Halls of Mandos if our hearts grow too weary or pained to endure the length of our lives."

Ossë nodded sagely as Lalaith spoke, listening with the patience of one who knew much, before he answered her, slowly. "You were born graced with the form and the life of one who is of the Firstborn of Iluvatar, and you have lived long, and found happiness among their race. You have even found love among them, as was foretold of you, and with all of this, your parents are pleased. But that is not the race to which you were born."

Lalaith sighed deeply, but did not speak, waiting instead, for Ossë to continue. He took his eyes away from her own, and looked ahead, indicating with his free hand that she look also, and she did, the white light clearing, brushed back, like fog before a gentle wind, to reveal a circle set upon ground, encircled by a ring of fourteen glittering thrones. All of them but one was occupied by a personage, each one the image of an Elf, though they clearly were unlike any elves she had ever seen, for they glowed brighter than the sun.

"The Valar." Lalaith's voice was but a breath. "And these are their thrones within Mahanaxar, the Circle of Doom." And Ossë nodded and smiled.

"They cannot see us, for this is but a vision of the past." He said quietly. "Do you know them, young one?"

Lalaith drew in a breath, astonished that she did. Elrond had taught her well of the Valar, but Lalaith, as she gazed upon their faces, realized that she knew them somehow. They seemed familiar to her, as friends she had known and loved once, but had forgotten, and only now remembered.

"Manwë, King of the Valar." she said quietly and nodded at the first Vala, the one directly to the left of the single empty throne, the brightest of the Valar, clothed in robes that appeared in the colors of the sky, shining in grays and purples and blues. He had golden hair that shone brightly, and his face was youthful, yet wise beyond Lalaith's understanding. "And Ulmo." Lalaith continued, nodding to the Vala seated left of Manwe. His appearance and dress were like Ossë's, but his brightness and the wisdom of his countenance nearly equaled that of Manwe.

"Yavanna and Aule." She nodded at two Valar, their thrones set near one another. Yavanna, Giver of Fruits, wore a gown of green that glittered brighter than young leaves beneath the sun, the Vala who was ever mindful of things that grow, and her husband, Aule, the smith and master of crafts, forger of gems and gold that lie deep in the earth, the creator of the race of Dwarves.

"Namo Mandos, and Vaire." Lalaith continued, pointing out the keeper of the Houses of the Dead, and his wife, the master weaver who wove the veils that clothed the ever widening halls of Mandos.

"Este and Irmo Lorien." Este was the gentle healer of hurts and of weariness, and though clothed in gray raiment, her visage was still bright. Her husband, Irmo, the younger brother of Namo, was the keeper of dreams and visions.

"Nienna." Lalaith said, focusing her gaze on a Vala, her throne set near Este's, the sister of Namo and Irmo, upon whose fair face was a look of sad, but compassionate endurance, the one who felt the pain of the world, and would teach pity and hope to any who hearkened to her.

"Tulkas and Nessa." Lalaith nodded at two golden haired Valar, the male being the only bearded Vala among them, both husband and wife fleet of foot, swifter than any creature that ran, Nessa being one who loved to dance and Tulkas, her husband, one who delighted in wrestling, and other tests of strength.

"Orome and Vana." Lalaith noted the great horn at Orome's side, the Lord of Forests, and of horses and hounds, the hunter of monsters and other foul beasts. His wife, Vana, the younger sister of Yavanna, seated beside him, had a face that though wise beyond measure as the other Valar, also possessed the youthful look of a girl, she being the Vala who caused flowers to spring to life at her passing, and whose very presence inspired birds to sing.

"But where is Varda?" Lalaith asked when her gaze had traveled around the circle, and came to rest on the empty throne, "The one my people call Elbereth, the Queen of the Valar, and maker of the stars. Would she not be beside Manwë?" But Osse held up a hand, gently silencing her.

"Listen, young one. You will learn, now."

Into the circle now, between Manwë's throne, and the throne left empty, stepped a female figure, and Lalaith knew her suddenly. Somehow, strange as it was, her face, inexplicably beautiful, was as familiar to Lalaith as her own. She was Varda, Manwe's Queen, and Fashioner of the Stars, beloved of the race of Elves, called Elbereth by them, praised by them in song and legend. Her hair was golden, like her husband's, but longer, hanging freely to her waist. She was dressed in a gown of midnight blue, sparkling with the light of diamond stars, and flashed in colors of gold and red, like an aurora, as she gracefully seated herself beside Manwe. Within her arms she bore something, swathed in a blanket that seemed to be woven from the very light of the stars. She smiled down at it, and as she did, her countenance seemed brighter than the sun, yet as gentle as starlight. The seated Valar gazed at her burden with great interest, and Varda, with the air of an indulgent parent, turned the bundle to them, and the face of a sleeping infant came into view, fair of skin, and golden haired.

Lalaith gasped, and swayed on her feet, Osse's hand touched her arm, helping to steady her. It was her! The child in the arms of the Star Queen, was _herself_, Lalaith!

"Elbereth, my _mother_?" She whispered. "I am the daughter of the Star Queen?"

"And of Manwë, King of the Valar and of Heaven, and all of Arda." Ossë added with smile. "Think on it, young one. They dwell in halls set above the snows at the peak of Oiolosse, highest tower of Taniquetil, taller than all the mountains of Arda, also called-," he paused and smiled, giving her a chance to finish his words.

"Also called Elerrina, Crowned with Stars." She said quietly. "The same name that Uncle Elrond gave me. But how could he know-,"

"He did not know." Ossë smiled. "But Lord Irmo, in accordance to the wishes of Lord Manwe, put the thought into his mind, in a dream." Ossë then put a finger to his lips indicating silence, for the Valar began to speak.

"What shall she be called?" Vana asked, the first to raise her voice, beautiful and musical beyond anything within Lalaith's memory, but again familiar to her.

"She must be called something great." Laughed Tulkas, looking to his wife for approval.

Nessa nodded her agreement with a smile. "She should have a name most lovely." She said cheerfully.

"Elerrina, her name shall be." Manwë said, the tones of his voice rich and deep, but soft as well.

"For she was born in the mansions of Ilmarin, at the peak of the mountain, whose name she shall bear." Varda smiled, turning her eyes down upon her child.

Lalaith knew her voice, and it took her no more than a moment to remember that she had heard it in Lothlorien, when she had woken upon the talan, and had looked upward to see the single star between the plaited branches. This was the voice that had spoken peace to her mind. Her mother's voice. Tears sprang to her eyes, and Osse glanced at her, smiling kindly as she brushed them quickly away. Ever had her parents known of her, and loved her, though she had not known of them.

"What shall her gift be?" Yavanna asked. "How shall she, as we have, bless the Children of Iluvatar?"

Manwë smiled upon Yavanna, and spoke. "I see that this is asked by thee, Lady Yavanna, because thy wish is to teach her of thy love of the _olvar_, most chiefly, the trees which thou dost hold dear."

Yavanna smiled in answer to Manwë. "It is true." She said with a nod.

"Fear not, dear Lady, for she shall learn from thee to love the _olvar_, but not that alone. She shall learn to love the _kelvar_ as well, the beasts and birds of Arda, those that exist in peace with the will of Iluvatar, and to hold dear all of our creations, all those things made of the Valar, and shall possess all that we the Valar have under our dominion with which we bless the Children of Iluvatar."

"But she was in form and body, born, in the likeness of the Firstborn." Aule said quickly, his voice, though filled with grace as the others, also carried within it, concern. "The Firstborn of the Children of Iluvatar have forgotten their friendship with the Children of my making."

"She shall learn friendship for thy Children, Lord Aule." Manwë assured him. "For we shall be her teachers."

Aule nodded his head, satisfied with Manwe's answer.

"How shall we teach her?" This was the voice of Nienna, a low, somber voice, poignant and compelling. "For there is only so much we can teach her with our words. Can I, here in the Blessed Realm, teach her fully to feel the pains of others, and how to give them comfort in their grief when she grows knowing only joy and nothing of the pain and weariness _we_ have endured because of Morgoth and his servants?" She gestured gracefully to her brother, Namo. "How shall she learn of death, knowing only life?"

Manwë did not answer Nienna at first, and glanced toward Varda who drew in a breath, and clutched her baby closer. "I know not all the will of Iluvatar, Lady Nienna, no more than thou." Manwë said at last, turning back to her. "But he has revealed it to us, that she shall learn," he glanced at his wife again, and they traded a worried look before he finished, "somehow."

"We have agreed that she shall go into the east, into Arda." Varda spoke now, though there was great reluctance in her voice. "There, she shall see the work of our hands, learn of life and death, of joy and pain. All of you shall teach her, each in thy own turn, of those things which you bestow upon the Children who dwell within Arda."

"If she is in the likeness of the Firstborn, she can die as they." Irmo said, concerned. "There are perils in the East that do not exist here, my Lord and Lady."

"That is true." Manwë agreed gravely. "But it is the only way she will truly learn, as we have."

Nienna looked as if she wanted to speak, but quickly glanced to her brothers, Namo and Irmo, and at Vaire and Este, their wives, and settled back into her throne, though her countenance was troubled greatly.

"Because the Lady Yavanna is so eager, she shall take her first." Added Manwë, his voice growing brighter.

Yavanna's eyes brightened, and she rose quickly to her feet, the green of her gown flashing shards of light as leaves of the forest glitter in the sunlight. She crossed the Circle quickly as Varda arose, not so eagerly, and passed the infant from her own arms into the arms of Yavanna.

"Fear not, my Lady." Yavanna smiled in response to the worried look Varda gave her. "I shall be as careful with her as thou wouldst be."

Varda gave her a smile, though it was still worried as Ulmo stood. "Come, my Lady." He said to Yavanna. "By my waves, thou shalt be carried across the Great Sea to the Lands of the East."

"Didst thou hear that, my little one?" Yavanna asked the cooing baby in her arms as she, with the baby, and Ulmo, disappeared from out of the Circle. "We shall see Arda! I will first take thee to see the great shepherds of the trees. And thou shalt meet the greatest and wisest among them! He shall be pleased to meet thee."

The white light of the vision obscured Lalaith's view of the Valar, and she turned to Osse, a troubled look on her face. "I do not understand it. Why was I left in Middle Earth?"

"You were not left by the choice of Yavanna, young one." Ossë smiled gently. "For all the Valar love you, Yavanna nearly as greatly as your own mother." Osse indicated back the way they had come, and with her hand in Osse's, she followed him through the light.

"Stay near me, young one." His voice, though still kind, was filled with gravity, and his hand tightened gently about hers. What you will see next, will be painful for you to bear."


	18. Chapter 17

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 17**

**May 16, 2003** _Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 17

About Lalaith and her guide the bright light waned and faded, until they were surrounded by a cloud of swirling gray. Osse's face became grim, and somber, as he pointed ahead of them to a void of black swirling at the center of the gray cloud, from which two voices, two dark voices, full of venom and hate, emitted.

"_So Yavanna comes in disguise, thinking that I and thou, and the servants of my making will not detect her passing_?" The first voice was barely more than a whisper, spoken as if from a great distance, embittered and heavy.

"_And she brings with her a child of the Valar in her arms, as well._" The second voice, sounding as if it were stronger, and closer, had taken on a tone of evil glee as it said this, and Lalaith flinched. This low, guttural voice, sounded much like the angry, hateful hiss she had heard in Imladris, when the One Ring had spoken to her. Lalaith guessed that this voice belonged to the disembodied form of Sauron. She knew that the Ring and Sauron were one, the Ring sensing the thoughts and passions of its master, longer ever to return to his hand. "_My master_," continued Sauron's voice, "_is this a child borne of Yavanna_?"

"_Nay_," spoke the distant voice, bitter with hatred, "_for the child bears the likeness of Varda the fair, the star maker, whom I knew well. She who rejected me, the greatest of the Valar, for Manwe, that whelp of a brother, who bears not my power, though he is favored, spoiled, for he follows mindlessly the will of our maker, and only with such help, gained the advantage, and thrust me into the void beyond. Does he think my power has ended? That I cannot speak my will to my servants_?"

"_I am ever at your bidding, my master_." Spoke Sauron's voice.

The first voice growled weakly. "_Pathetic excuse for a servant, thou art, Sauron. Defeated by a child, one of the Secondborn, no less_."

"_No! Not defeated._" Sauron's voice protested. "_For my ring claimed his mind, turned him to my purposes._"

"_Yea, indeed, and then lost itself at his death._" The first voice mocked. "_Have thy servants found yet thy ring_?"

"_No, my master, but they seek it, and they will find it, ere the world grows much older_."

"_See to it, that they do._" Demanded the first voice. "_But ere thou findest the ring, find also a way to take the child from Yavanna. Speak to the minds of thy servants, and those others of dark minds. Bid them take the child by stealth, and bring it to thy realm in Morgoth. The child is of the seed of the Valar, and if I can but turn her to my purposes, she will become as great and as terrible as ever I was. And if I cannot turn her, then I will destroy her. I could not bring her mother to join me, and for the folly of Varda in choosing Manwe in my stead, her child will be lost to her_."

Lalaith snatched a ragged breath in her lungs and clung tightly to Osse's hand as the vision changed, now to a green glade beneath a bright blue sky. Her star woven blanket was spread beneath her in the center of the green clearing, lush with tall waving grasses, the baby who was Lalaith lay on her back upon it, happily flailing her arms and legs as she looked up at the sky, and about her at the tall grasses and trees, her first sights of the wonder of Arda, her golden little head barely visible to Yavanna above the tall grasses.

Yavanna, having shed the glorious light that had surrounded her as she sat in the Circle of Doom, had taken the appearance of a common Elf, but still tall and beautiful, and clothed as always, in her gown of sparkling green. She sat some distance from the happy infant on the jutting root of a tall tree which stood at the edge of the grassy glade. The tree had an odd twisted shape, bearing the appearance an old, bearded man, two limbs jutting from its sides seemed as arms, and its roots as legs, and Yavanna sat as if upon its lap, looking up into the trees branches, and speaking, as if she and the tree were conversing as friends.

"She is the daughter of Manwe, and Varda." Yavanna said proudly, gesturing joyfully to the baby as she spoke, and the tree even seemed as if it were nodding in approval to her words, though it appeared that only the wind was moving its branches.

"Ah." An aged voice spoke from the tree. "Then it is a joyful thing indeed, my Lady."

"Yes." Agreed Yavanna with a smile. "And it is by the grace of my Lord and Lady that I have brought her here. I wished for thee to be the first to meet her, my old friend."

"Oh, then I am blessed," said the voice from the tree, "to be the first of all of Middle Earth to meet this child."

"Thou art the oldest of all that live. Even more than gentle Master Tom." Yavanna reminded her companion. "Come, my friend." She said with a light, cheerful laugh, and hopped lightly to her feet. "Thou mayest even hold her."

"Might I?" The aged voice gasped in surprise, and the tree grunted and groaned as if it were moving to rise, to pull its very roots out of the earth.

On the far side of the clearing, the grass rustled slightly, and then was still, but Yavanna and her companion, did not see the slight movement.

Again, closer, the grass moved again, and now the baby seemed to sense that something was amiss. She opened her tiny pink mouth, and let out an alarmed sound, and Yavanna looked up at the baby, the first hint of concern coming onto her lovely features. But it was too late. Between the baby upon her star woven blanket, and Yavanna, a massive spider, dark as jet, hideous and evil looking, arose out of the tall grass on its eight massive legs, and leered at the two friends with fiery venom, dripping like lava from its fangs.

"_Take care, Vala and Ent_." The great spider spoke in a long slow hiss as she surveyed them with her many eyes. "_She was born in the image of the Firstborn, and she can die as they, by the poison of my teeth_."

"Move aside, vile servant of Sauron!" Yavanna demanded, her voice firm and commanding, though her eyes were bright with fear for the baby. "I command thee in the name of Manwe, to go, and to do no harm to the child!"

In response to her demand, a hiss, sounding much like mocking laughter, came from the spider. A length of web issued from beneath its body, and looped around the baby. The spider's two back legs deftly bundled the now frightened and crying baby, in a cocoon of web until only her head showed, and plucked her up off of her blanket. The spider's black eyes, full of hate, never left Yavanna or her companion. The baby squealed angrily in protest, but the spider paid her no heed.

"I am no servant of Sauron, though I may, for my own purposes, do his bidding. I am one of the daughters of Ungoliant the Great, the Slayer of Trees, and I carry within my fangs, the fire of Udun. I do not fear your oaths, nor do I give regard to the name of _Manwe_." Laughed the creature. "I spit upon that name." She hissed, then, and from her two fangs, dripping with glowing, lava-like venom, she spat forth a flaming sheet of fire that engulfed the grass and the woods about Yavanna and her companion, forming a sheet of flames that blocked Yavanna's sight from the spider as it turned and fled, the baby clutched to its belly. The tree, singed by the flames, recoiled as if in pain, but Yavanna, a Valie and unable to die, gave them no heed, and darted through, ignoring the heat and pain of the flames to pursue the vile beast. But it was gone, disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

Yavanna ran far and long, in search of the creature, for many days and nights uncounted, speaking to the trees and the grasses, as was her gift, of the great black spider, but none she spoke to, neither bird nor beast, had seen its passing, as if it had been shrouded by the evil mists of Sauron, from their sight.

At last, knowing her search to be fruitless, Yavanna returned with a heavy heart, to her friend, still standing though one whole side of its bark was scarred black, and many of the trees around it, had been burnt to the ground at the snake's flaming breath.

"She is gone." Yavanna cried, sinking down upon the tree's roots, and flinging herself against its bark. "What shall I do? What shall I tell her mother and father?"

"I do not know." The tree's voice was filled with pain both from Yavanna's pain, and its own wounds as one of its scarred branches, clutching the star woven blanket, lowered and offered the sparkling cloth to Yavanna. "But tell them that I will not stop searching for her, as I can. I will keep my eyes ever watchful, and speak to all that is in my dominion of her."

"She has surely been taken to Mordor, to the lair of Sauron, if the daughter of Ungoliant has not yet destroyed her, herself." Yavanna mourned, inconsolably. "Even with the greatness of her father's sight, Manwe himself cannot see that far."

"Oh, my Lady, do not fear." The tree soothed her. "For Iluvatar's sight is everywhere, even within the blackness of Mordor. If her life came because of his will, it will not end without his will."

Yavanna, somewhat consoled by the wisdom of her friend's words, nodded, her tears subdued. She pressed her cheek against the soft cloth her friend offered her, but would not take it. "If ever thou findest her, give it back to her. It is her favourite."

"I will do as you bid, my Lady." Said the tree.

The vision once again changed. The scene dark, two sheer walls facing each other, plunging down into an abyss of impenetrable black.

Nothing moved, no sound was heard in this darkness, though Lalaith understood that this was the abyss beneath the bridge of Khazad-Dum, the bridge they had passed over to escape the Balrog, and the Moria orcs, the bridge from which Gandalf had fallen. There was a slight movement on a narrow ledge jutting from one of the walls, and Lalaith realized the spider that had snatched her from Yavanna was there, still clutching the baby.

"So," said the spider as if to herself, ignoring the furious squealing as the baby glared angrily at her, knowing, even in her infancy, the creature's evil nature, "you are the child of the Valar. You look not so great as they, here in these dark pits. Shall we see if you can truly die from my poison as Sauron claims? He said to bring you to Mordor alive, but you see, my little one," here, the spider caressed, almost gently, the fair golden head, with one of her vile legs, and the baby wailed, and thrashed as if trying to escape, "I answer to no one. Morgoth, you see, betrayed my mother. And any servant of his, I will in turn, betray." She drew the baby toward her fangs, dripping with fearsome, fiery venom, preparing to drive them, like two knives, into the baby's tiny body, when, from above, came a whistling sound, and an arrow, black and foul, plunged deep into the body of the spider, piercing through her bulbous abdomen.

The spider froze, a hiss of angry surprise emitting from her before her legs curled inward to her belly, twitching in her last death throes, before she tipped, and toppled from the ledge, dead, into the empty darkness below.

"Augh. What's this?" A new, heavy voice spoke, and from above, the dark, hunched body of an orc, wielding a bow, appeared, scampering like a beetle, down the nearly sheer wall of the abyss. "Pah! The little Maia! Just as the voice of Sauron said, when it spoke to my mind." The orc snatched the baby up, roughly, and studied the tiny face, the rest of her body still tightly encased in the spider's matted web.

Lalaith glanced quickly at Osse's face before she turned back, for she recognized the angry, pig like features of the orc she had fought within Balin's tomb. The one that would have crushed her throat had not Legolas and Boromir slain it. The baby frowned angrily at this new, though still foul creature, and continued to squeal angrily.

"Augh!" The Moria orc shouted, nearly dropping the baby. "I cannot blame the spider, now. To take you to Mordor, will be nearly more trouble than you are worth." The orc licked its lips, but then frowned. "But were I to take you to Mordor, through the paths and the pits that Sauron has shown to my mind, _mine alone_," the orc emphasized, with a rough shake to the baby, "I would be very well rewarded."

The baby, Lalaith, drew in a breath, opened her little pink lips, and squealed again.

"_Augh_!" The orc shouted angrily, flinching from the sound. "I will claim my reward, but that will not keep me from killing you myself, one day, you little _snaga_!"

Then tucking the baby roughly under one arm, the orc slid, snake like, into a narrow crevice in the wall, and was gone.

Lalaith bowed her head, her brain pounding from agony, from the pain of what she had seen. "Please, no more, Lord Osse. I cannot bear it." She pleaded, her eyes shut, her hand clinging tightly to the Maia's.

"Forgive me, young one." Osse said gently, and she felt him leading her again, back the way in which they had come. "There is more you must see."

Lalaith sighed wearily, but Osse continued. "Do not fear, daughter of Manwe. You are stronger than you realize. And I will not leave your side."

Lalaith felt somewhat comforted by Osse's promise, and opened her eyes again, to see before her, a great eye, its pupil a cat like slit, wreathed in flame, set at the top of a black angry looking tower, far apart from the white light that surrounded her and Osse. She sensed from it, anger and hatred, and shrank near Osse's side, grateful for his stalwart presence. Facing the misty darkness, as if across a vast, dark chasm, of space were the Valar, Manwe at the head, flanked by the others, their faces, though fair and beautiful, held controlled rage as they faced the eye. Yavanna stood near Varda, still weeping, while the Star Queen held her hand in a consoling manner.

"_So, the Giver of Fruits, Yavanna, has also given your baby away, lost her, has she, Manwe_?" The voice of Sauron said, speaking with mocking venom in his tone. "_Why would the folly of one of the Valier cause such great animosity for such a harmless spirit as I_?"

"The Lady, Yavanna, is not the one to be faulted, Sauron." Manwe's voice returned, echoing across the chasm and causing the flame wreathed eye to vibrate, as if shivering in fear. Manwe's voice was calm, though there was power within it as well. "Thou, and thy master who dwells within the inescapable Void to which thou wilt someday be doomed, and thy servants bear the blame, and thou shalt not keep my daughter."

"_Won't I_?" Sauron's voice answered back. "_She is kept within the Tower of Barad-Dur. None have yet escaped it_."

"My daughter shall be the first then, for it is Iluvatar's will that she do so, and what he speaks, will be." Manwe's voice was deep and commanding, and the power of the words he spoke made the eye shrink with fear. "As my Lord, Iluvatar has decreed, she shall dwell now, for a time, in Arda, among his Children, and she shall earn their love, as they will hers. She shall grow in wisdom, and in grace and beauty, and she shall find one among the Sons of the Firstborn, who will give her his heart's love, and earn the love of her heart in return. She shall live in happiness, not in the misery with which thou hast cursed thyself, and which thou wishest upon her."

"_Shall she_?" Sauron's voice growled, amused. "_I say not. For if ever she escapes my dominion, her life will never be one of happiness_!_ Shall your daughter ever cross to the west of the mountains of Ephel Duath, and dwell among Iluvatar's Children, she shall know nothing but grief. Any women who learn to love her with the love that a mother bears for her children, and any men who desire her for the beauty and grace she has inherited from your mate Varda, shall all die. And they shall perish in pain and misery, cursing her name, and the day she ever came among their people_!"

These words of Sauron rolled across the chasm at the Valar with the pronouncement of an unbreakable curse, and even Manwe himself paused for a long moment, before he spoke, his voice calm, but yet filled with strength, greater than Sauron's. "These words of thine, even I cannot counter entirely." He admitted, and cruel laughter began to rise, like an evil cloud, from the flame wreathed eye, before Manwe continued. "But I can decree that this curse rests not at all upon the Firstborn, among whom she shall dwell. And any of the Secondborn who shall die for her, shall do so, only willingly, because of the love they shall bear for her, and shall find redemption and great reward for their sacrifice within the Halls of Mandos." The dark, hateful laughter cut off into an angry, rageful growl, and Manwe finished, "Thus, this curse thou hast spoken, shall in the end, mean nothing at all."

The great eye of Sauron, trembled in rage, and muttered, "_Then I shall command my servants to slay your daughter now. She shall be cast into the fire, and shall perish_."

Varda glanced fearfully at her husband at Sauron's words, but Manwe did not appear troubled. "It is Iluvatar's will that she live. Thou shalt not succeed."

"_We shall see_." Sauron muttered, his voice heavy with hatred.


	19. Chapter 18

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 18**

**May 21, 2003**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Disclaimer: LOTR is the creation of the great J.R.R. Tolkien. Not me.

_Recap: Lalaith is looking in Galadriel's mirror, and she is having a vision (3D), and Osse, who is Ulmo's servant, [Ulmo is the Vala of the Ocean, for those of you who don't know,] is showing her, her past. She is a Vala, the daughter of Manwe and Varda, (who is also called Elbereth), who are the King and Queen of the Valar. She has seen that when she was a baby, Sauron had her kidnapped. Manwe, Lalaith's dad, has said that she is somehow, going to escape from Sauron, and so, being the spoiled, dysfunctional brat he is, Sauron has just threatened her parents that he's going to kill her._

Chapter 18

The scene changed again, revealing a dark, fire scoured corridor. The distant, constant pounding of anvil against metal rang through the corridor, a sign of the orcs' constant thirst for war, and the occasional scream of a Nazgul that still seemed to echo hauntingly even after it faded away. A figure traversed the corridor, not hunched and scurrying as would the figure of an orc, but walked upright, her back straight, though most of her clothing was rough sack like cloth, made by the orcs, worn and dirty, save for a white shawl draped around her shoulders. Her steps were slow and subdued, and she walked with the grace of a lady, the proud grace of one in captivity, but who refused to believe it.

Her name, Lalaith understood, for she could see into her mind, was Eolyn. In her youth, she had been among the fairest of the daughters of Men. She had been, at one time, a daughter of one of the great Lords of Númenor, and in the bloom of her maidenhood, her beauty had captured the heart of a young noble man, Anarion, the younger son of Elendil, a kinsman to the king of Numenor. Anarion was kind to her, handsome, and as noble as his birth. When her father had, as many of the Numenorians, been deceived by the black craft of Sauron, Anarion had persuaded her to come with him on his father's ships, and thus she was spared the Drowning of Numenor. After their ships had been cast upon the shores of Middle-earth, and she had found herself alone, bereft of all those she had loved, her father and mother dead, and all the happy, bright eyed maidens who had once been her friends, Anarion had been beside her to comfort her in her grief, and she had found herself slowly learning to love him in return. They married, and she had borne to him a son. Meneldil, they called him, and though the time in which she lived had been perilous, for Sauron was still abroad in the land, and his might was great, she found happiness and peace in the devotion and love of her husband, and in the rearing of her child.

But then came the forging of the Last Alliance, and a great host of Men and Elves made war against Sauron and his dark forces, and a day came in which there was a last final assault, and her beloved Anarion, and her father in law, the King Elendil, were both slain by Sauron. Her husband's brother Isildur, finding his courage amidst his anger and grief, took up the shard hilt of Narsil, broken beneath Sauron's foot, and cut the One Ring from the Dark Lord's hand, defeating him.

Eolyn well remembered the day the servant of her husband's brother had come to Minas Anor, bearing the evil tidings of Anarion's death. At the first, she had wept bitterly at the news, inconsolable, unapproachable. She had gone to her room, and had barred the door, and closed the curtains of her window, and lain down upon the bed she had shared with Anarion, admitting no one, not even her son, Meneldil, who was grieving at least as greatly as she. She did not eat, nor did she sleep for days. But when her tears were dried, and her strength exhausted, she rose again, and unbarred the door, coming back, but only as a shadow of the woman she had been, to the light of day, and to the realm of the living. Never again would she laugh or smile, or do any more than what was required to survive. Meneldil pleaded with her that he might see something of the woman who had once been his mother in her eyes, which were now dull and dead, void of feeling. But though she felt his grief, though she longed to do as he wished, she could not. Her heart was too broken. She could feel only anger. And this, she did not want Meneldil to see. She hated Sauron with a rage that consumed her, and she hated the vile, twisted servants that did his bidding, and she became obsessed with thoughts of vengeance, scheming in her mind, how she could gain power to crush the black evil sown by Morgoth and his servant Sauron, forever.

She had heard of the Ring of Sauron which Isildur had claimed for his own, first from her husband, before he had been killed, before Isildur had cut it from Sauron's hand. But never did she see it until Isildur came himself to her city, Minas Anor to plant the White Tree in the memory of his brother, and to give her and her son comfort and counsel, bearing the ring visible for all to see, on a chain around his neck. And from the first moment she had seen the shine of its gold, strange whispering thoughts entered her already wounded, weakened mind, and she had wanted it for herself.

Isildur, after all, could not use it well. His mind was not strong enough to wield such a powerful weapon of Sauron's. But her feminine mind, she fancied, _was_ strong enough. Strong enough to use it for good, and not for the twisted evil purposes for which Sauron had first crafted it. She was a woman, she reason, and she it was, who felt more, who had grieved more, who had loved Anarion, and thus hated Sauron all the greater. She could never be twisted to evil by the ring as easily as could a man. And it seemed to her as if the ring was meant for her alone, and her thoughts became consumed with possessing it, though she never found her chance. For her brother in law was killed before she could find a way to take it for herself, along with his three eldest sons and nearly all of their consort, slain by a band of marauding orcs as they passed from her lands in Gondor, northward toward Elendil's realm in Eriador. Three only, of their company, survived, and returned over the mountains, bearing with them, the shards of Narsil, Elendil's sword, to Rivendell, the realm of Lord Elrond, Half Elven, where Isildur's wife and youngest son had dwelt during the war. But the survivors had not the ring with them.

The ring was gone, passed out of all knowledge. Eolyn had only been mildly surprised that she had felt more grief for the loss of her, _her_ ring, than at the deaths of her kinsmen. And only shortly after hearing of their deaths, and the loss of the ring, she left

Minas Anor, to search for the ring herself, leaving no word to Meneldil as to where she had gone or why, taking only food, water, and a single shawl of fine, white linen, a wedding gift from Anarion, woven by the elves, that he had told her would last for thousands of years. She had no purpose to stay, she reasoned, for her husband, the essence and joy of her life, was dead, and her son full grown, no longer in need of his mother.

She sensed the nearness of the ring when she traveled near to the banks of the Great River, the Anduin, near to where Isildur's company was slain. But before she could search more for it, she was waylaid by a band of patrolling orcs, and rather than being slain, she was bound and questioned by them, for they were curious and even a bit fearful that a woman would dare to be traveling alone. Fearless in her hatred of them and of Sauron their master, she cursed them with all the powers of the Valar, and insisted that as a Princess of Numenor and of Gondor, it was she who would find the ring of their master, and use it against them, crushing them into ash and nothingness.

The orcs, she had thought, would be angry at her vows, and kill her there, but they had seemed only amused. Amused enough, that they had carried her as their prisoner, back with them to the heart of Mordor, to the Tower of Barad-Dur, and there she remained. _Snaga_, they called her, which she learned meant _slave_, in their tongue, but never did they force her to perform any menial task, nor did they harm her in any way, allowing her, instead to wander whither she would within the tower, keeping to her own affairs, and leaving them to theirs. Even those the orcs called the Nazgul, the silent, faceless wraiths, shrouded in darkness, dared to not so much as glance at her. But neither did they ever let her leave.

Years passed, but age never claimed her face, nor did death, and Eolyn began to fear that some strange curse had been cast upon her, and that she might never die. As the centuries slowly passed, and age made her wise, she realized that her longing for the One Ring had been folly. That she would never have been able to use it for good any more than Isildur could have, for it had its own evil mind and will. But now, that knowledge did her little good. Never could she escape from Barad-Dur. The orcs did not mistreat her, but she knew they hated her, and she hated them, and she hated Mordor, and its grimness and blackness. She hated most of all, those silent, foul beings the orcs called the Nazgul. She knew they had once been Men, those of her own race, but they had fallen into darkness beneath Sauron's power. They disgusted her, and she wished to die if only to be rid of them. But more than that, she longed for death so that she might find peace, and join her husband once again. But death did not come.

Nor did a chance to escape. Her legs would never outrun the wolves the orcs kept as their mounts, and the only horses in Mordor were those who had been stolen from the lands of Men, and tortured into mindless submission for the use of the Nazgul. Their poor minds were lost to them, and they would never obey her will. She thought often, of taking her own life, but she could never bring herself to the act. And her captors were careful to keep their weapons far from her anyway, fearing that she would use such against them. So she remained in Mordor, bereft even, of the hope of death.

Her memories, though, she could keep. And though centuries passed, the image of Anarion's face never faded from her mind. And now as she walked the shadowed corridors of Barad-Dur, she smiled to herself, not seeing the fire scoured corridor, or the distant, ceaseless pounding of hammer against anvil, forging the endless supply of weapons that fed the orcs' hunger for blood and war. She saw only his face, as she remembered her happy life with him, and the sweet, satisfying love they shared together in the years before he had died, murdered by Sauron. She remembered also, the first time she had looked upon the face of the son she had borne, and the moment the tiny, squalling infant had first been placed into her arms. Her precious Meneldil would be long dead now, but she would have descendants, great Lords and Stewards of Gondor. Still, she remembered the soft infant feel and the sweet scent of her son as a baby, wrapped tightly in a blanket, and sleeping peacefully in her arms. She hugged her shawl, as ageless as she, about her shoulders, the only bit of comfort she had within these barren walls. Oh, what she would do to have the chance to hold a baby again!

Almost as if in compliance to her wishes, an infantile wail pierced her ears, close by, a cry of a baby in pain. And suddenly as if the long centuries had never passed, the instincts of the mother within her flared, and she dashed forward in the direction from which the sound was coming from, shoving a passing orc out of her way as if brushing a bothersome fly from her face. The corridor opened into a room, hot and smoky with the fire of a forge, where two orcs, chortling cruelly to themselves, were bent over something lain out on a hard stone table. Something one of them had to hold down as the other pressed down a heated brand upon whatever it was she could not see, and the painful wail rose to a piercing shriek.

"What are you _doing_?" Eolyn shrieked in the tongue of her birth, darting into the room, and pushing both orcs back. Surprised, the two of them staggered away, and looked up to glare at her. The metal brand one of them had been holding, had been dropped, and clattered to the stone at her feet, its twisted tip still red and glowing. She looked down upon the stone table the orcs had been bending over, to see a tiny sobbing baby, flailing helplessly, pink and golden haired, and flawless, but for a new brand, the letters of the orcs' speech, spelling out _snaga_ burned into the back of her right shoulder which was still smoking against her tender pink skin. She snatched the infant up from the table and wrapped her white shawl hurriedly about her, then clutched her tightly to her breast. The infant's wailing immediately stopped, though she sniveled, and buried her head against Eolyn's neck. "Leave her alone!" She shouted again at the stunned orcs.

"It's the will of Lord Sauron, worthless _snaga_." One of the orcs growled low in the black speech of its kind. Eolyn had learned to understand their speech, but she had never spoken it back to them, the very utterance of it, feeling like an abomination on her tongue. "Give it back." The orc demanded. "Mind your own affairs." It took a threatening step toward her, but when Eolyn squared her shoulders and faced the thing, undaunted, it backed down.

"Sauron wanted us to teach her of his ways, and he'd make her powerful." Growled the second orc, equally fearful to approach Eolyn. "But she's unteachable. So Lord Sauron wants us to cast it into the fire."

"But we decided to have some fun, first." The first orc laughed with a cruel snort. "We wanted to see how loud it could cry."

"Hideous, evil creatures!" Eolyn shouted at them. "Could you not let it live, leave it untouched as I?"

"You're one of the _Secondborn_." Mocked the first orc. "You're not as dangerous as that little _snaga_. You showed how weak your mind is. You can be twisted more easily than that thing. And we're still waiting to see how useful you can be to Lord Sauron."

Eolyn looked down at the little, yet lovely face bundled in her shawl as the baby gazed up at her through bright blue eyes, in pleading. The infant seemed to sense she meant no harm, and her little fists clung tightly to her, as if asking for help, her pink baby lips trembling as she continued to whimper. Her sweet little features were indeed elven, fair and flawless, her tiny, perfect ears rising into a delicate point.

"What of her parents?" She demanded looking back up at the orcs.

The two orcs traded a secretive glance, and the first orc muttered, "_Dead_."

The second one laughed at what the first orc had said, as if at a joke. "_Dead, dead, dead_!" It snorted gleefully.

"And her kin?" Eolyn snarled, even as tears sprang to her eyes at what the orcs said. The poor infant, she guessed, must have been the sole survivor of a band of Elves, ambushed by these orcs, and mercilessly slaughtered.

"West." Said the first orc. "They'll never get her back."

"_Far_ west." Said the second, and then they looked at each other again, and snorted noisily in the cruel laughter of orcs.

"The elf, Cirdan?" She demanded. "The shipwright? On the coast?"

"No, you stupid _snaga_." The first orc guffawed.

"Who?" Eolyn shouted, her frustration mounting.

But the two orcs would not answer, and instead, laughed shrilly as at a joke they refused to share.

Perhaps Lord Elrond was her kinsman, Eolyn guessed. If he dwelt still in Rivendell, he would be in a land that the orcs of Mordor might refer to as being in the far west. At the fall of Sauron, Elrond had not yet married, but surely he had, in the centuries uncounted that had passed, found a bride, and borne children, old enough now, to have their own children. Perhaps this tiny infant was his granddaughter. Perhaps that was why she seemed so important to these orcs. Eolyn, long separated from the world of Men and Elves, could only guess, but it seemed the most probable answer.

"The lineage of the worthless little leech is not your problem. Give her back, _snaga_!"

The first orc demanded, beginning to grow bolder.

"I will _not_!" Eolyn cried, clutching the baby even closer, her motherly instincts boiling now.

"What can you do?" The second orc growled. "You cannot escape. If you try to protect that thing, we'll kill you too!"

"And why would you do that, if you've been keeping me alive, all these years?" Eolyn asked, her voice suddenly growing quiet, thinking that perhaps now, she would know why they had kept her alive this long.

"When Sauron finds his ring and gets his power back, he plan was to forge another ring with his dark crafts, not as powerful as the first, but strong enough to bend your mind fully to his will." The orc looked at its companion, and they both snorted in laughter.

"He plans to put this new ring on your finger, and make you his Queen, more deadly than any of the Nazgul."

The second orc snorted. "But if you try to help the elf monster, we'd have to kill you. So give the brat back."

"I will _never_ be one of the wraiths, nor Sauron's Queen!" Eolyn cried. "Nor will I allow you to hurt this baby!"

"She isn't giving it back." The second orc grumbled menacingly.

"Then she's as bad as the brat. We'll kill them both!" Roared the first orc, and with these words, it raised its clawed fingers, and came at Eolyn to strike her. But it had forgotten the branding shaft it had dropped to the floor. Eolyn reached down, and snatched it up in her free hand, thrusting it with more force than she thought she could muster, into the vile creature's abdomen as it came at her, impaling itself onto the heated brand.

A sickening gurgle of anguish erupted from the creature's throat and it crumpled, writhing as it died. Eolyn jerked the branding iron free, and as the second orc squealed in rage, and pounced at her, its own claws outstretched, Eolyn, again with the strength of a mother defending its young, lifted the rod, and cracked it into the orc's face. She could feel the sickening crunch of bones as the rod dented the orc's face inward. Stiffening, the creature, instantly dead, fell backward, right across the glowing coals of the forge. To her amazement, the orc's black oily flesh ignited in an instant, its body engulfed suddenly in flame.

Though the creature was an orc, evil by its nature, the sight of its enflamed corpse was still sickening to Eolyn, and she dropped the branding iron and turned away, stumbling out the door, not knowing where she was going, but only wanting to get away. Perhaps she could hide the baby somewhere, her mind raced, panicking. And they would never find it. But that was foolishness, she reminded herself. What would they do, if they discovered she was the killer of the two orcs? And they surely would. No matter that orcs were argumentative creatures by nature, and were constantly destroying each other. If she was to slay any herself, they would kill her without any questions, and there would be no one to protect the baby. And how would she, a tiny helpless child, fare, all alone in the heart of Barad-Dur? The only way for the baby to live, Eolyn told herself, was to do what she had, for two thousand years, not learned how to do for herself. She had to escape Mordor.


	20. Chapter 19

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 19**

**May 27, 2003**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Disclaimer: LOTR is the creation of the great J.R.R. Tolkien.

_Recap: Lalaith is still having her vision. (It's almost over. Trust me.) Eolyn, the lady who rescued her when she was a baby, has just killed two orcs to save Lalaith, and knows she needs to escape Barad-Dur to save the baby._

Chapter 19

Eolyn forced herself to remain calm as she tucked the baby close, hoping she would meet no orcs. They would surely suspect something if they did, and saw her with the baby. Ahead of her, around a curve in the corridor, lit with smoking torches on either side, was a wooden doorway, and the horses of the Nazgul were kept in stables beyond it. She could here their angry, wild snorts, similar to the angry shrieks of their Nazgul masters. Like the Nazgul, any good that had once been in them, was gone, as if their bodies no longer contained the free souls which they had been born with, and the poor creatures were possessed entirely by the evil of Sauron's making.

"My Lord, I saw her do it." A sniveling, whining voice of what sounded like one of the smaller, trodden down orcs of Mordor came into her ears, echoing from around a bend in the corridor. Eolyn stopped in her tracks. The sound of sliding, shuffling feet, accompanied by thick armor clanking as a pair of heavy feet marched along, echoed about her. "The _snaga_ went in, and then she came back out. She was holding the little monster that was supposed to be thrown in the fire. And when I went in, I found them both, dead. One burnt half to ashes."

"Oh," Eolyn gasped, and cursed herself. She had forgotten about the orc she had passed in the corridor. It must be the one speaking now.

"Indeed." Said a deeper voice, probably one of the lieutenants of Sauron. "She will die, then, and the _snaga_ brat, as well."

Eolyn paused, her breath heaving in her chest, and shrank against the wall near the door. The shuffling steps of an orc were coming at her in the direction from which she had come as well, and soon, both groups would come into her view and meet, exactly where she stood.

With a groan of fear, Eolyn clutched the baby close, and pushed on the heavy wooden door. Whether she wanted it or not, it was now her only route. The door was heavy, and hard to budge, but fear gave her strength as it had when she killed the orcs, and she managed to shove it open enough for her and the baby to squeeze inside. Once inside, she shrank down in a corner, and clutched the baby close as she listened to the approaching steps of the orcs. There were no torches in here, and very little light, but over the centuries her eyes had grown accustomed to darkness, and she could see the horses snorting in their pens. She closed her eyes tightly, and murmured a prayer to the Valar into the gold of the baby's sweet smelling hair as the loud clomp of armor drew closer, and paused just outside the doorway.

"You!" Shouted the deep voice of Sauron's lieutenant, speaking now to the orc whose footsteps she had heard coming from behind her. Her muscles jerked at the voice, harsh and close. "Where is the human woman?"

"I don't know, my Lord. I haven't seen her." The sniveling, fearful voice sounded strained, and Eolyn risked a glance out the slightly ajar door just enough to see a gauntleted arm holding an orc against the wall by its throat as another smaller orc stood near, bobbing at the knees, ever eager to see death, even of its own kind.

"She came this way!" The angry voice roared. "Tell us where she is!"

The pinned orc could do nothing but whine weazily, and Eolyn turned her eyes away in shock as she heard the nauseating crunch as bones were crushed beneath the larger orc's fist, and the heavy thump as a lifeless body hit the floor.

"Argh!" Groaned the angry voice. "Clear out this mess, and then find that _snaga_, and the brat!"

"Yes, my Lord." Chortled the smaller orc, and the sound of a body being dragged slowly away scraped down one length of the corridor as the pounding steps of armor echoed down the other.

Eolyn drew in a tentative breath of relief, and stood slowly, shakily to her feet.

As luck would have it, the stable was empty of orcs, but for ten horses, in their pens. Nine of the ten, all turned, as one, to glare hauntingly red eyes at the intruders.

The tenth and nearest horse, black as a moonless night, its eyes bleary and red, but not dark crimson as the eyes of the other nine, leered at them from over its stall. It must have only recently been stolen from the lands of Men, for it was pawing at the hard stone beneath its feet, and shaking its head viciously as if it were still trying to battle whatever evil was fighting to gain control of its body. The poor, tortured beast shook its head in fright, and would have reared back, but the baby, to Eolyn's shock, nearly jumped out of her arms at the horse, and clapped her two tiny pink hands onto its black nose.

To Eolyn's even greater shock, this simple touch seemed to calm the beast completely, as if the violent evil that was fighting within the beast's body was suddenly purged. The horse settled, hanging its head, almost wearily, over the side of its pen, letting the baby caress its velvet soft nose

"_Roch_." The baby gurgled in a burbling infant voice, patting its nose gently, and again, Eolyn was amazed. She had never learned the tongue of the Elves in its entirety, but she had, from her husband, learned a few words, and if she remembered correctly, the word the baby had burbled, was the word for _horse_, in the tongue of the Elves.

"Good, my little one!" Eolyn said, and laughed in spite of herself, forgetting their peril for the moment, as she indulged the baby, letting her run her hands along the animal's nose, and tug gently at its black mane. The baby smiled eagerly at the second horse, and moved as if to reach for it, but the animal reared back, angrily, kicking furiously at them, and Eolyn had to shelter the baby beneath her arm and duck swiftly in order to avoid its flailing hooves as it shrieked with the fury of a Nazgul, its voice echoing through all the darkened corridors of Barad-Dur.

"No! Quiet!" Eolyn moaned, but the horse only shrieked again, this time joined by the other eight their eyes red with hate and fury, and they kicked and clawed furiously at the air and screamed wildly, as if determined to alert all the host of Mordor to Eolyn's presence.

From outside, in the corridor, and far away, came the warbling blood cry of orcs, and the clanking approached of the running feet of armored creatures. She would be found, and she and the baby would both be slaughtered. She glanced around helplessly, and noticed in the half darkness, a long ragged cloak hanging on a hook from the wall near the tenth horse's pen, and razor edged gauntlets on a shelf beside it, much like the cloak and gauntlets worn by the Nazgul when they rode over the mountains of Ephel Duath into the lands of the west.

A thought borne of desperation, entered her mind, and as Eolyn uttered another quick prayer, she snatched the cloak from its hook, and the gauntlets from their shelf.

A moment later, the door beside her was flung open, and a crowd of orcs, their weapons held at the ready, burst in, only to stop in surprise, and stare at the robed and hooded Ringwraith that stood before them, ever silent and forbidding.

"_You._" The single wraith hissed in the fierce breathless whisper in which the Nazgul spoke, pointing out one of the smaller orcs. "_Do you wait for the return of Lord Sauron, to saddle and bridle my mount_?"

A single gauntleted hand appeared from beneath the wraith's cloak, and indicated to the pen holding the nearest horse.

The small orc stood, struck numb for a moment, glancing between the wraith, and the ten horses, nine of which were nearly going mad with fury, as if they were trying to break down the doors of their pens, their red eyes glowering hatefully at the single wraith. The other orcs, however, growing fearful of the wraith's displeasure, shoved him roughly, and he was shaken from his stupor.

"Yes, my Lord." The orc, with bent head, scurried into the tenth horse's stall, and with shaking fingers, struggled to slip its bridle over its head and secure the saddle as quickly as it could, knowing the impatience of the Nazgul, and the cruelty of which they were capable of.

"My Lord." The orc snorted, when it had finished, leading the horse from its pen.

Without speaking a word, the Ringwraith swung up into the saddle, its face, ever shrouded beneath its hood, glared down on the group of silent orcs. "_Move aside_." It ordered in a hideous, whisper. As one body, the ax wielding, armored orcs moved out of the wraith's path. The smallest orc tipped its head slightly to the right, curious, as it caught a glimpse of a small bare foot in the stirrup that the wraith quickly flung its cloak over to cover. But the orc gulped, and did not speak.

Eolyn struggled to keep her pounding heart under control as with one hand she clutched the baby close beneath the wraith cloak, grateful that the child was remaining silent and still, and with the other hand guided her mount through the door of the stable, down the dark corridor, and out into the open beneath the gate of Barad-Dur. The dim, murky light that managed to filter down through the black clouds ever shrouding the land of Mordor, rested upon her, and Eolyn prayed that it was not enough light to expose her face beneath her hood. Orcish warriors were all about her, and the clomp of her horse's hooves was loud upon blackened stone as she urged her mount over the bridge, forcing herself not to give into her fear. A band of orcs marched past, forcing her mount to the edge of the bridge. The horse's hooves scraped the edge, sending bits of black rock tumbling down into the fiery pit below. She shuddered at the depths beneath the bridge, and the glowing river of lava that rolled at the bottom of the vast chasm.

A blast of hot wind rose up from the lava below, and a portion of Eolyn's cloak whipped aside, revealing for a moment, the tiny, golden head of the baby. Eolyn gasped, and flung the cloak back over, but not before the baby glanced over the edge of the bridge and saw in the black chasm below, the boiling river of lava. Releasing a frightened squeal, the baby buried her head against Eolyn's shoulder, clinging more tightly than before.

Lalaith gulped, seeing the image in her own eyes, feeling the memory of terror, and lethargy at the dizzying depths she as a baby had felt, seeing the vast emptiness plunging into the lava below her. The sight had imprinted itself forever on her little brain. Often she had wondered why, as an Elf, heights seemed to frighten her so. This was her answer. She breathed a sigh as she felt Osse's hand tightened about her own, reminding her that this was but a vision of the past. She was safe with him.

"Out of my way." Eolyn had bravely demanded, as her skittish mount had stumbled and slid near the edge of the precipice, as she jerked on the reins, turning her horse and shoving back to the middle of the bridge through the midst of the marching orcs, who, seeing the wraith's aggression, more than willingly gave way to her.

"My Lord." A voice demanded as she reached the other side of the bridge, and she looked down, suddenly frightened, to see an orcish guard move to block her path, holding out a clawed paw, stopping her.

_Oh no_, she thought despairingly. _It's seen the baby_.

"Why is it that but one of the Nazgul rides out alone?" Demanded the orc, its eyes lifted to the shadowed hood of the wraith cloak, its eyes, to Eolyn's relief, missing the slight movement of the baby beneath the gray, ragged cloth.

Eolyn hissed through her throat, hoping, that as before, she could sound like an angry wraith. "_Lord Sauron demands that I go on a mission of great importance. It is not for you to question me_."

"Yes, my Lord." The guard murmured, and bowed, properly humbled, and allowed Eolyn to pass. She could see the fire of Mount Doom in the distance, and the glow of fire spewing from cracks and fissures in the broken and cracked landscape about her, and fear gripped her heart as the weight of what she had just accomplished settled on her mind. She had gotten across the bridge from Barad-Dur. Could she make it across the ragged, unfriendly mountains she could see in the distant west? Doubts clawed at her heart, but then she felt the touch of the baby's gentle little hand against her neck, soothing her fears, perhaps in much the same way the child had been able to sooth the poor, tormented horse upon which they rode.

A gentle wind, relatively cool, something she had almost forgotten, caressed her face and her hair, but to her gratitude, did not whip her cloak back again, and Eolyn began to feel even light of heart. "Rorin, I shall call you." She said out loud, almost cheerfully to the horse as she urged it into an unhurried trot.

"And what, my sweet little one, shall I call you?" Eolyn asked, giggling like a girl as the baby's soft little fingers tickled her throat, and the infant gazed up at her from beneath the gray cloak with a smile, and a small happy gurgle of her own.

The baby's laughter gave her an idea, and Eolyn smiled. "I will give you a well-fitting name, for you have given me something I have not had, since my husband was killed. Laughter. But your name will be Lalaith." Eolyn added. "For that is _your_ word for laughter."

The baby smiled as if pleased with the name, and offered her another happy gurgle.

Eolyn risked a glance over her shoulder, and felt a rush of elation as she saw the tower behind her, already in the distance. She smiled, and turned forward once again as she urged Ronin into a gallop, hope surging within her that she would find safe crossing, and passage into the land of Gondor, as the black tower of Barad-Dur, and the smoking fire of Mount Doom flanked about in black clouds, grew smaller in the distance behind her.


	21. Chapter 20

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 20**

**May 30, 2003**  
_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is the creation of the great J.R.R. Tolkien.

_Recap: Eolyn has just escaped Barad-Dur with the baby on the horse. The vision ends this chapter!_

Chapter 20

The vision blurred, and changed again, the scene growing into focus showed a night sky above a grassy plain. Eolyn sat before a fire, the baby upon her lap, a cheery fire crackling, with a newly caught rabbit roasting over the fire, already stripped of half of its meat. Rorin stood at the edge of the firelight, munching contentedly on grass. In her disguise, Eolyn had passed through Mordor unchallenged, and made her way over the ashen northern mountains. Gondor would be west of Mordor, but Eolyn felt the need to return the child to her people first, and Rivendell, if her memory was not failing, was north. Somewhere. The horse, Rorin, was a trusty mount, and managed to carry them across a vast, mirky land of swamp and bogs, without getting them lost and trapped. In the darkness of the mists, Eolyn had seen strange floating lights that seemed to beckon to her, and had she been afoot herself, might have been tempted to follow them. But Rorin, her faithful friend, had barely seemed to notice them.

But then had come another range of razor edged mountains. Eolyn had almost despaired. How could she, with a baby, and them both dependant upon the horse, find their way across the backs of these broken mountains? But again, Rorin had somehow found a way, almost as if he was being guided by some unseen hand. And then, at last, they were across them, and the Great River had come into her sight, glittering welcomingly like a ribbon of silver. Eolyn followed its course northward, the land gradually changed from broken and scarred rocks, black and lifeless, and nearly barren, to grassy plains. This was the first time in many days since she had found anything to eat, satisfying enough to fill her stomach or the baby's, and Rorin had eaten little more than scrub grass as well. Thankfully, the elf baby had greater stamina than Eolyn had expected, though the child was obviously famished. Whatever spell had been cast over Eolyn as she lived in Mordor, seemed to have left her, and she was beginning to feel the weight of age now, and as she touched a hand to her face, she could feel the beginnings of deep wrinkles forming there, and her hair, which had once been a nut brown, was turning slowly to a dirty, iron gray. But her euphoria at freedom was so great, that Eolyn did not care. She was only grateful to the Valar that she was at last free, and that the baby, the sweet, beautiful golden haired baby was free as well, and alive, and even the burn scar on the back of Lalaith's little shoulder was slowly disappearing, fading as they grew farther away from Mordor.

The lay of the land had changed a little in two thousand years, and Eolyn had no map to direct her. But still, she knew that as long as they traveled away from Mordor, she would find friendly allies, soon enough, be they human or elf. It did not matter, as long as Eolyn could find friends willing to care for Lalaith.

"Oh, I wish I had more for you than this." Eolyn moaned through her own hungry chewing, though it was a cheerful, good natured complaint as the baby, nestled in the crook of her arm, sucked greedily, hungrily on Eolyn's fingers that were covered in rabbit grease and bits of meat. "But this is all I have, my dear little Lalaith." Eolyn kissed her golden little head. "But do not worry, my sweet one. When we find your people, there will be mothers tripping over each other, for a chance to be your wet nurse. You'll have more than you can possibly eat."

At the edge of the firelight, Rorin stopped his munching, and lifted his head, perking his ears, his neck suddenly straight and alert.

"What is it, Rorin?" Eolyn asked, almost absently as she glanced over her shoulder at the horse.

Far in the dark distance, she heard it now, the cold, piercing wail of a wolf. It was coming at them from the west, closer to the Great River. Eolyn scrambled to her feet quickly, and strained her eyes out at the darkness beneath the sliver of a moon. With her passage unchallenged since crossing the mountains, and now, the grassy fertile surroundings instead of the imposing black of Mordor around her, Eolyn had been feeling more and more secure, and less afraid that anyone would bother to pursue them now. She had even cast aside her wraith's cloak and gauntlets days before, simply dropping them onto the ground, no longer caring to be burdened with them any longer. And suddenly, the thought that perhaps she should have been more wary gripped her heart like ice. The baby Lalaith, started to cry now, and stiffened in pain as she had the day the orcs had branded her, as if the burn of the heated iron was returning.

"Oh, my little Lalaith. Hush now, hush." She said, bobbing the baby in her arms as she kicked dirt over the fire, stifling the flame into darkness, so that she would be hidden from unfriendly eyes, and that her own eyes might grow accustomed to the dark.

Another howl came again, this time closer, and from the south, and the baby only cried more. Rorin tossed his head now, fearful, and cantered up to Eolyn, nudging her in the shoulder as if beckoning her to mount him. She had removed his saddle and bridle and they sat a short distance off, but she did not bother to retrieve them, and instead, gripped a handful of his mane, and swung herself, unaided, onto his back, the baby, wrapped in her shawl, still tucked into the crook of her arm.

No sooner had she done that, than she heard a sound which caused the blood in her heart to freeze. The warbling shriek of an orc thirsty for blood. Eolyn gasped. The thump of warg paws thrashing through the grass were coming closer, almost upon them, completely unseen in the darkness!

At that, Rorin fairly shrieked, and began in a sudden gallop northward. Eolyn did not protest, for that was the only choice she seemed to have, now. The wolves, and the orcs riding them, were coming from the south and the west, cutting off any retreat in those directions, and Eolyn would choose death ever before she turned her feet eastward again.

"Fly, Rorin!" Eolyn urged, shouting into the wind that whipped about her, and risked a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes had slowly adjusted to the night, once she had extinguished the fire, and she could see them now, five black shadows of huge wolves, mounted by the hideous, hated shapes of orcs, lolloping after her, squealing in bloodlust and anger. They were armed with bows, quivers of arrows across their backs. One drew back the string of its bow, and the string uttered a sharp twang moments before Eolyn felt a sharp, burning pain splinter through her back. She gasped, as the agony coursed through her, and nearly fell, but Eolyn managed to stay mounted, knowing that to fall would mean certain death for both herself, and the baby.

"Faster, Rorin!" She pleaded, even as another arrow struck her, this time in the shoulder, piercing clear through. Numb now, from the pain of the first arrow, Eolyn looked down in detached awe at the head of the arrow that pierced her shoulder, and hearing the whimper of pain in Rorin's labored breath, glanced back to see numerous arrows protruding from his haunches. But still he was managing to stay ahead of their pursuers, for the moment.

Before her, beneath the light of the stars, Eolyn could see a dark line. A forest of thick trees lay ahead of them, and Eolyn made this her goal. Friendly Elves lived within woods like these, and she forced herself to hope for this, even as another arrow cruelly struck her from behind, though she barely felt it.

"Oh, Lalaith, don't be afraid." She gulped as the baby wailed, frightened. Eolyn could taste blood in her mouth as she spoke, and more blood filled her throat with each breath. She would not live to see the sun rise again. But by the Valar, she promised herself, the baby would. Lalaith would see sunrises uncounted in her limitless Elven life, and she would be happy. Eolyn set her teeth hard, and clutched the whimpering baby to herself, ducked low on Rorin's back, and cried into the wind for Rorin to run ever faster.

But Rorin was exhausting quickly from his own wounds, and the wolves were drawing closer. Eolyn flinched as the dark laughter of an orc came at her from near her shoulder. A wolf had managed to approach close, running even with Rorin, and its rider drew back on its bow, and let fly, the arrow piercing Rorin's ribs just beneath his front shoulder.

Eolyn cried in terror as Rorin stumbled heavily and fell. She felt herself fly from his back and tumble through the air, hitting the ground hard on her shoulder. She tucked the baby in close to her as she rolled, the arrows in her back jerking, and cracking, and tearing even more lifeblood out of her, but Eolyn managed to keep the frightened, whimpering baby protected from the fall.

Eolyn staggered up. The trees were too far. Unreachable now. The wargs were pounding up behind her. They would trample her, and kill the baby. They would both die. Tears stung and blinded Eolyn's eyes as hopelessness weighted her heart, but still she struggled on. She would not let them take the baby while she lived. But then a shadow appeared before Eolyn, foggy and blurred from the darkness and her tears. She could see only that it was also armed with a bow, an arrow set to the taut string. The arrow, though, was not aimed at her, strangely enough, but the wolf that was bearing down on them. The shadow released the string, and the wolf yelped, and crumpled, rolling and crushing its master. Eolyn glanced back, stumbling to a confused halt. The first orc was dead, as was the wolf upon which it rode. She glanced ahead at the shadow, fearful and confused.

The figure must have seen Eolyn's fear, for he called to her in a soothing voice, "I am an elf of Mirkwood, an ally."

Eolyn blinked her eyes. Indeed he was, she could see now. A fair, young looking Elf, though surely older than she could guess, with handsome, flawless features that were at once both child-like and ageless. His eyes were filled with compassion, and a willingness to help her, and hope surged within Eolyn's heart.

"Please, I beg of you, help us." Eolyn pleaded as her legs lost what little strength was left to them, and buckled beneath her. She stumbled to her knees. "I have not the strength-," Eolyn could not finish for blood filled her throat.

Without further words, the young elf darted past her, and strung another arrow as he ran. Eolyn collapsed heavily, exhausted, onto her side, unable to go any farther. She could hear the sounds of battle behind her, and marveled within her fogging mind that a single Elf could fight so bravely and well, and she prayed that the Valar might be with him, and that the orcs would be defeated. For if a single orc were to live, the baby was doomed.

And then the flurry was past, the night once again silent. Eolyn heard the sound of feet now, rushing to her side, and the sight of the young Elf, nearly unscathed, but for a brush of black orc blood on his cheek, came once again into her view.

His face, once alight with the fire and fury of battle, softened instantly with compassion as he rested a warm hand on her cold, trembling brow.

"What of my brave Rorin?" She whispered, barely possessing the strength to lift her head.

The young Elf took on a look of sorrow at her question, and shook his head. "I am sorry-,"

Eolyn sighed brokenly, saddened, though she had known when the arrow had struck him that her friend Rorin was dead. She closed eyes in grief for a brief moment, before she opened them and relaxed her hold on Lalaith. She pushed the small warm bundle toward the young Elf.

"Take her." She murmured, with a shudder.

The eyes of the young Elf widened in amazement. Clearly, he had not been expecting to see a baby in her arms. But his hands were just as gentle with the child as they had been with her. He softly scooped up the bundle, wrapped in Eolyn's shawl, and lifted the baby tenderly.

"Do not worry, brave lady." He murmured, a finger reached out, and stroked her wrinkled cheek gently. "No harm will come to your child."

"Not mine." Eolyn whispered, shaking her head. She put out a trembling hand. Her limbs felt so heavy. The effort seemed almost too great to bear as she brushed the cloth from Lalaith's face. "Elf-child."

Eolyn watched the Elf's face as he and the infant studied each other with quiet intensity, before Lalaith opened her tiny red mouth, and cooed softly, as if trying to speak to him. At the sound, Eolyn smiled, and tears shone in her eyes. Lalaith was no longer crying, cradled so gently in the Elf's strong hands.

"Her father, mother, dead. Rivendell, kin." Eolyn murmured. Her lungs were filled with blood, but she lacked the strength to cough it up. In only moments, she would be dead. Eolyn knew this, but the thought did not bring her sadness. Only peace, for Lalaith was safe now. "Elrond." Eolyn drew in a breath, trembling with the effort of it, and murmured, "Lalaith."

The Elf warrior nodded, and offered her a sad, though comforting smile. "I will see to it that she is taken to Rivendell."

Eolyn nodded wearily, satisfied. Lalaith would be returned to her kin, she would be where she belonged. She would be happy and safe, and loved. Eolyn lay her head down upon her arm, closing her eyes.

It was strange how painless it was now. She felt weightless, free, like air itself, and she knew she was dead. Where was she? She was no longer on the grassy plain. Lalaith and the young Elf holding her were gone. She was surrounded by light. And then someone spoke to her. Someone she knew.

"Eolyn." Her eyes lifted, and Eolyn smiled, for she recognized him.

"Anarion." She gasped, and then smiled, for she noticed that Rorin stood beside him, bright eyed and nickering, tossing his mane happily. "And Rorin too!"

"This is a fine horse you've befriended, my love." Anarion said, patting Rorin's neck appreciatively before he approached her with a smile, and gathered both her hands into his own. "I have been waiting for you." He leaned toward Eolyn and kissed her gently, and she smiled. "A _very_ long time." It seemed now, as if they had never been parted.

"Come." He said with a laugh, stepping back toward Rorin, and swinging up onto the horse's bare back. He offered Eolyn his hand, and when she gave it to him, he hoisted her easily up behind him.

Eolyn laughed as she wrapped her arms around Anarion's waist, and rested her chin on his sturdy shoulder. "Where are we going?" She asked delightedly.

"I'll show you!" He said turning to place another kiss on her smiling lips, then with a gentle nudge into Rorin's sides, the horse began to run.

The scene faded at last, and Lalaith, her legs weak, her cheeks wet, found herself once again surrounded by the cloud of white, clinging tightly to Osse's firm hand.

"Eolyn, Lady of Númenor, and of Gondor, dwells now in the Halls of Mandos, young one, and with great honor." Osse murmured comfortingly. "For she loved you well."

"And died for it, according to Sauron's curse." Lalaith sniffed, wiping at her eyes.

"The curse that Sauron uttered, brings him no satisfaction." Osse reminded her gently. "Few of the Secondborn will love you enough to die because of that love. And those who do, will rest well in the Halls of Mandos, far from where Sauron can hurt them again."

Lalaith though, was little comforted, and she glanced away, thinking one word in her mind: _Boromir_.

"Young one?"

Lalaith glanced back at Osse's face, and struggled to return his encouraging smile.

"Lord Elrond Peredhil is held in high honor among the Valar, and will yet received many abundant blessings for his care of you." Osse said. "You have found great happiness in Imladris, because of him, and his kin, young one."

"To Uncle Elrond, I have always been a daughter, a princess, in his eyes, no less than Arwen." Lalaith said thoughtfully. "He taught me to call him Uncle only because he did not wish to take the honor he felt was due to the father of my birth, though he knew not whose child I was." Lalaith sighed, furrowing her brow. "Now I know that I am a child of the Valar."

Osse heard the tone of her voice, and touched her shoulder gently. "Something troubles you, young one?"

"I am glad to learn of my birth, and my parents. But-, Lord Osse," Lalaith bit her lip softly. "I have no wish to sound ungrateful-," Osse smiled encouragingly, giving Lalaith the reassurance to continue. "But am I not still of the race of Elves? _What_ am I? I-, I do not want to be any more than who I am." She finished quietly and lowered her head, "Who I was. One of the Eldar."

"You are now just as you were before you learned this knowledge." Osse said with a gentle smile. "You were born in the likeness of the Firstborn, in form and body, at least. And but for the knowledge you have gained, you have not changed." Osse touched her chin, and lifted up her face, his searing blue eyes studying her own intently. "But do not forget that within you, you bear now, as you always have, the blessings of all the Valar." He smiled now, his countenance growing sympathetic.

"Your friends are true, young one." Osse was gazing at her, speaking slowly as if he wished for her to understand and remember all that he was saying. "And he who possesses your heart, bears love for you that is deep and unending. Remember that in the dark days that are coming."

At these last words spoken by Osse, many questions arose in Lalaith's mind, but the chance to ask them never came. For with a last, sympathetic smile from Osse, the white light surrounding her faded, the Maia's image along with it, as if sucked in a whirling vortex, back into the mirror, and Lalaith found herself standing, as she had been before, beside the basin of the mirror, with Galadriel standing near, and Legolas beside her. The basin itself was empty, save for a damp steaming sheen, for all the water had evaporated.

Burdened now with the weight of all that she had seen, the light vanished, and Osse gone, no longer lending her strength, Lalaith felt suddenly limp, drained of all energy. Weakly, she glanced at Legolas, whose own eyes met hers, and she smiled tiredly. But there was something else now that, along with the echoing memory of Osse's last words, troubled her. His eyes, filled with the love and devotion that had always been there, now also held, distant, worshipful reverence, and sadness.

"My Lady, Elerrina of the Valar." He said gently, his words soft and deferential, but in a tone that made Lalaith realize he did not wish for it to be so. He lowered his eyes humbly, placed his hand over his heart in a gesture of obeisance, and bowed his head as he dropped to one knee.

"But what-," Lalaith murmured, looking to the Lady of the Galadhrim, with a pleading look. "My Lady, why-," Galadriel looked at her kindly, but there was also a look of sympathetic dismay upon her fair features, and she offered no words before she dropped into a deep curtsey, and bowed her head too. Galadriel, the Lady of Light was bowing to _her_!

"No, _no_, Grandmother, no, Legolas," she protested weakly, her mind reeling, now from the shock of what she was seeing, as well as the strain of the vision she had just endured. "Please do not bow to me. I am not-,"

Legolas' gaze lifted, just as Lalaith succumbed to the weakness and the shock that had been pulling at her body and her mind. He stood then, and in one deft motion, reached out and caught her gently by the waist as she fainted into the soft, welcome light of happier dreams.


	22. Chapter 21

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 21**

**June 11, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

_Recap: Her vision just ended, and she, along with Galadriel and Legolas found out that her parents are Valar, and the other two are a little shocked at it._

Chapter 21

Lalaith woke to the gentle sounds of night fading into early morning as she came slowly back to reality. She stretched contentedly, resting her arms on the pillow above her head. Though it was still long before dawn, the forest was beginning to stir, and here and there, Lalaith could make out a solitary bird's song. She lay on her side, her legs slightly curled, beneath the warm blankets of the bed Galadriel's maids had prepared for her, within the silky tent between the great jutting roots of the Mallorn tree. She had but to stir slightly to realize that she was still wearing the gown she had been the night before. She blinked sleepily, contentedly, certain that what she remembered, had been only a dream.

She sensed a nearby presence, and rolled slowly to her back and turned her head, smiling to see Legolas beside her, sleeping atop the blankets, his face turned toward hers, his body curled as hers was, almost, but not quite touching her. Her long, freely hanging hair was splayed luxuriously across her pillow, and his fingers were entwined in it, his face almost buried within it.

That was it, she decided, raising her eyes to the silken ceiling of her tent. She had fallen asleep in Legolas' arms, and he had carried her into her bed, covered her, and then fallen asleep, beside her. Lady Galadriel had not come, she had not seen all that she had in the Mirror. She had not met Osse the Maia, nor did she have a vision. She was not a Vala. It was all a dream. All of it. Relief washed over her and she smiled.

Her heart grew light. Lalaith eased closer to Legolas, and brushed his sleeping mouth with her lips. She smiled as he stirred and murmured appreciatively. She lowered one hand to his face softly stroking the strong line of his jaw, and sighed, resting her forehead against his, as she closed her eyes.

Legolas stirred again, more forcefully this time, and she could sense that he was fully awake.

"Legolas-," she murmured softly, her eyes still closed, not wishing to open them, and end the intimacy of the moment.

"My Lady-," Legolas gulped, fully awake. At the tone of his voice, her eyes shot open.

In an instant, he had drawn away from her, and scrambled off of her bed, bursting to his feet, his face flushing deeply. He stared hard at her, his eyes wide in shock, before he glanced away quickly, as if embarrassed.

"Legolas, what is it?" She gasped, wondering for a moment at his strange actions before she guessed at them, and flushed herself.

"Oh, Legolas, I-," she glanced away. "I am sorry. I did not mean-, that is, I did not think. I meant nothing-,"

"Do not apologize, my Lady." Legolas said, his words strangely stiff and formal. He did not look at her as he spoke. "For it is I who is to blame. I should have left you, when I had the chance. But it was not so easy. I could not help myself. To touch, at least, your hair."

"Legolas?" Lalaith inquired. She sat up to get a better look at him, and though she was fully dressed, since Legolas was present, she drew the coverlet up as well, clutching it tightly to her breast. "It's me. I am only Lalaith." She laughed nervously. "Not Lady Galadriel, or, or Elbereth of the-," She drew in a breath. She could not finish as a chill feeling gripped her heart.

Legolas gulped, and shot a look at her, his eyes, in one quick movement, traveled over her, taking in all that he could, and she could sense the longing in his gaze. "No, but you are her daughter, Lady Elerrina of the Valar." He glanced away again, and his brow furrowed, his face taking on a look of extreme emotional pain. "I, a mere, unworthy Elf. I have given my love to a Valie."

Lalaith's heart dropped like a stone. Then it was true. It had all happened as she remembered.

"Legolas-," She pleaded, throwing back her covering, and leaping to her feet. She hurried around the bed, and reached for Legolas' hands, but pulled back as he flinched, almost as if he feared her touch. "You must understand. But for the knowledge of where I am from, nothing has changed between us." She gazed up pleadingly into his pain filled eyes. "Nothing."

"_Lalaithamin_." Legolas whispered, the word an agonized murmur from his lips. In his eyes, she could see a battle raging within his soul. "Everything has changed."

She shook her head helplessly. Her empty hands clasped over her heart as she pleaded,

"How?"

Legolas could only shake his head sadly before he turned and left, almost staggering, out the door.

Lalaith darted after him as he stumbled heavily down the steps to the clearing where the rest of the Fellowship still slept as the light of the morning slowly grew to a brighter glow in the forest.

Aragorn was the only one awake, seated on a jutting root, and sharpening his sword, slowly and thoughtfully. His eyes shot up though, in a questioning look as Legolas stumbled into view, and leaned his hands heavily onto the edge of the fountain.

"Legolas." Lalaith pleaded once again, reaching the bottom of the steps, and started toward him. She reached to touch his arm, but quickly withdrew her hand as he recoiled.

"What have I done? Why are you doing this to me?"

"What's wrong?" Aragorn asked softly in the speech of the Elves. "What happened?"

"Nothing you need tell my uncle about." Lalaith returned tensely.

The human's shoulders lifted and fell, then he repeated his first question. "Then what's wrong?"

"She's a Valie." Legolas moaned, his head hanging as if in utter exhaustion as he leaned heavily on the edge of the fountain.

Lalaith's face dropped into her hands. Behind her, Pippin was mumbling something about fried tomatoes in his sleep, but it hardly registered in Lalaith's mind. It took all her effort to keep herself from bursting into tears.

"She's the daughter of Manwe, King of all of Arda, and Elbereth, the Star Queen." Legolas continued in a heavy voice. "She is one of the highest, holiest beings of Iluvatar's creation. Infinitely beyond the worthiness of a mere Elf."

"Oh." Aragorn said quietly, and he looked downward thoughtfully. Silence reigned for a long moment. "How did you learn this?" He ventured at last.

"Lady Galadriel's Mirror." Lalaith answered quietly, barely lifting her head as her hands fell heavily, helplessly to her sides. "Perhaps I should never have looked into it."

"No. It is what needed to be done." Legolas said, shaking his head. "You now know who you are. I hope now, that you have found the peace you have been seeking all your life."

Legolas' shoulders drooped, and he turned, staggering away from both Aragorn and Lalaith into the forest, the thickness of the trees soon blocking him from sight.

Aragorn watched him go, his brows furrowed, confused, his jaw working beneath his beard. As the Elf disappeared, he turned toward the maiden, and contemplated her unhappy face as she gazed hopelessly after the disappearing figure of her lover, her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Lalaith." Aragorn's soothing voice cut through the tenseness in her mind, and Lalaith turned to see the human's eyes, filled with concern and empathy. Aragorn stood, and came closer to her, glancing again over his shoulder where Legolas had disappeared. "It had always been my hope that you would learn of your past, but I did not realize that-, this would happen."

"It is true, though. I was born to Elbereth and Manwe, so I suppose I _am_ a Vala." Lalaith muttered, weakly lifting her hands, and then letting them fall back. There was a tone of bitter sarcasm in her voice as she continued, "Too holy to deserve the love of the Elven Prince to whom I have lost my heart. Too divine to need him to keep the vows he swore to me. He told me he would love me for eternity. That he would stay beside me, and fight the evil that has longed ever to destroy me. He told me he would love me, even if Sauron himself was my father. But Sauron is not my father. Manwe is. And since that is so," she sniffed angrily, "then perhaps Legolas is free to forget his vows, to take back his love as if I never possessed it, and trample my heart into the dust. It matters not that my father prophesied that I would find one to love among the Eldar. I am but an unfeeling Vala, now. I am left to my own strength. But perhaps he thinks that I do not need his help, all powerful being that I must be."

She ceased her pained ranting, and glanced up at Aragorn, grateful for his comforting presence, for his selfless concern. They had known each other for most of his adult life, and he loved her as dearly as a sister. She managed a weak smile, calmed by his silent strength, his eyes showing only concern for her, not anger or judgment at her harsh words.

"You're not going to start bowing, or calling me `Lady Elerrina', are you, Estel?" She pleaded.

Aragorn grimaced painfully. "Not unless you want me to."

"No." Lalaith shook her head quickly. "Never. I am no different than I was before."

Aragorn nodded gently. "Then I will do as you ask."

"Legolas never will." She choked, glancing down at the ground.

"He loves you too much, Lalaith, to be lost to you."

Lalaith shook her head sadly, wishing she could believe Aragorn's assuring words, but now, all she could see in her mind, was Legolas' back as he walked away from her.

"Her name was Eolyn, Aragorn." Lalaith stammered, sighing brokenly, grasping vainly for anything to focus on besides her pain of Legolas' rejection. "The woman who died saving me."

"All your life you have wanted to know who she was." Aragorn said, a sad smile coming to his face. "Why is it that she thought your parents were dead? That Elrond was your kinsman?"

"The orcs of Mordor lied. What they did not speak in lies, they lied with their silence."

Lalaith sighed wearily. "That is their way. It is not surprising."

"No, it is not." Aragorn murmured, and then he was quiet.

She grew silent as well, having nothing more to say, her mind unwillingly wandering back to Legolas, the pain in his eyes, and the sight of him turning and leaving her. She glanced at the spot where he had disappeared within the trees, and started with a small gasp to see Boromir standing there, his eyes moving back and forth between herself and Aragorn, waiting awkwardly for a chance to speak. In her distress, she had not heard him awaken, and draw near. She blushed, embarrassed.

"Boromir." She gulped, changing her speech to the Common Tongue, so that he would understand. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to see that all is not well between you and Legolas. And that your heart is grieved." He said, and his brows furrowed in sympathy. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No." She blurted, more forcefully than she wished, and turned, scurrying away in the opposite direction Legolas had gone, with a sudden fear of Boromir's nearness, and of the tender look in his eyes as he studied her face. Not that she was afraid of him, for she knew that the intentions of his heart were good and honorable. He had saved Legolas' life in Moria, and at the same time, had helped to slay the orc that had tried to kill her. But she was afraid _for_ him, remembering Sauron's curse, and the fate of Eolyn who had loved her like her own child, and had died for that love. She could not let Eolyn's fate be Boromir's.

She walked blindly, crookedly, following no path through the trees, her heart heavy within her, her brain pounding incessantly, the image of Legolas' back as he turned and left her, ever before her eyes. Her mind lost track of time, how far she had gone, how long she had walked, before she came to a small stream, clear and sparkling as crystal, stones as bright as jewels littering the bottom.

"Oh, Lord Osse." Lalaith cried, dropping heavily to her knees, and studying the softly rippling water, her face reflected in its dancing surface. "Why? Why did my parents have you show me all that you did, if this is the outcome? Because I am of the Valar, Legolas no longer sees me as he once did! He thinks himself unworthy of me. He will barely look at me. He will not even touch me. Why must it be this way? Have I lost him?"

The stream spoke nothing in return, nothing she could understand, and continued to make its quiet patient way through the trees, burbling as it went.

"Osse, answer me!" Lalaith cried, almost angrily, striking a fist angrily at the surface of the water that splashed and rocked, and then went back sedately to the way it had been.

She did not lift her head when she heard a twig crackle behind her, and felt a presence. She heard him lower himself to the ground behind her, and felt large warm hands resting comfortingly on her slender shoulders.

_Aragorn_. She thought in her mind, and with the gentle touch of her friend's hands, Lalaith at last gave into the heaviness and grief in her heart, and burst into tears, weeping with sudden abandon as wetness blinded her eyes. She turned then, and fell against his chest where she continued to sob. In her distress, she failed to note that the Man holding her was larger, more muscular, lacking Aragorn's elf-like leanness. She did not care. She only knew her misery.

"Why did I ever look into the mirror?" She cried, sobbing in her own tongue as his arms circled around her, and pulled her close, and she buried her face against his chest, inhaling the musky, Mannish scent of him. "Why? Why could I not be content with my ignorance? Had I never looked, he would love me still."

"Hush, Lalaith. I am here. All will be well," murmured a warm, deep voice, speaking in the Common Tongue as a hand gently began to stroke her hair.

Lalaith started, and pulled back away from his chest, but not completely from the shelter of his arms. It was not Aragorn's voice that spoke, but Boromir's.

Catching a broken sob in her throat, she looked up into the Man's face. Boromir's eyes gazed down into hers, his own sympathy and the pain he felt for her, deeper even, than Aragorn's had been. She cast a quick glance over his shoulder, but no one else was to be seen. They were alone. Aragorn had not followed her, but Boromir.

Boromir reached up with one hand, and cupped her cheek. His hand, larger and more calloused than Legolas', though still gentle as his thumb softly smoothed away her tears.

"I love him, Boromir." She murmured, her eyes darting away from the human's. "And I will love him forever. Only him."

"And he loves you. He will never stop loving you." Boromir assured her, with a sigh that spoke of reluctant acceptance, and Lalaith looked up at him, his eyes delving deeply into her own. "But tell me what has happened between you. It is clear to me that your heart is pained."

"No, you would not understand, Boromir." Lalaith sighed, and pulled away from him.

Boromir let her go, her hands sliding slowly through his as she sat back on her feet, and dropped her hands helplessly into her lap.

"I understand more than you may think." Boromir said drawing in a broken breath, a hurt look flashing over his countenance. "Your heart is his, for eternity." He gulped hard, and his eyes took on a look of pain. "And his heart is still yours. He is only-, confused." His own look of confusion flashed across Boromir's face as he said this, and Lalaith felt a fleeting, but distinct impression that he might be thinking, for a moment, of himself, not Legolas. But then it faded as quickly as it had come. "Legolas will come back to you."

Lalaith sighed. "You and Aragorn are so sure that all will come to happiness between Legolas and me."

"Why should we not be?" Boromir asked, a catch in his voice even as he struggled to sound cheerful. "I have never seen greater love than there is between you and Legolas." He smiled bravely into Lalaith's eyes, but Lalaith could see sadness behind his smile.

"Boromir, tell me truthfully, for I must know. You are my friend, are you not?" Lalaith asked gently, reaching out and placing a hand lightly on his own where it rested in a fist upon his knee, "I think of you as a friend. And I have no wish to be the cause of pain for you or-," Lalaith stammered, "or to cause your death."

Boromir gulped hard as if the question seared his heart, but he managed a nod, accompanied by a rough, short chuckle. "Of course we are friends. Who would not be, after all that we have been through, together? But I would endure pain for you, Lalaith, even death, willingly, if it was required to save your life, my-," he choked and glanced away, "my friend."

His eyes turned back and studied her, his gaze intense, yet tender at the same time. Lalaith's heart clenched hard at the look in his gaze, and at the tone of his words that had not even begun to reassure her that he was safe from Sauron's curse.

"Tell me what happened. I will listen." He said, turning his hand so that he caught hers within his grasp.

Lalaith dropped her eyes to his hand, trembling slightly as it held hers. Boromir, she feared, her heart growing cold, was in terrible danger. She needed to leave him. She could not allow him to love her.

"I must go, Boromir." She said softly. She pulled her hand out of his, rose and turned away, preparing to follow the path of the stream as it meandered away. "Forgive me, but I must be alone."

She glanced over her shoulder to see Boromir, still kneeling where he had dropped to the ground beside the stream. He was watching her go with a wistful gaze. He smiled briefly, and nodded, giving her leave, though there was sorrow in his eyes. She turned, and walked slowly away.

Boromir watched Lalaith walking away, her movements calm and sedate, wishing that the pain she was bearing, he could take away, that he could somehow give her comfort.

His gaze did not leave her, his eyes watching her as she moved, her gown accentuating the lithe beauty of her feminine form, her long, star sparkling hair unbound, cascading down her back, the sight causing the blood to pound thickly in his throat. And as he watched her go, moving with the graceful silence that marked her race, his mind moved back in time to the first moment he had ever seen her in Rivendell, when he had called to her, and she had turned, and he had been struck so suddenly with her almost unearthly beauty. He knew he had loved her from that moment, but it was more than her outward beauty that had so quickly ensnared him. There was something within her, something wonderful yet elusive, beyond her beauty and her goodness, her courage, and the grace of her spirit. It seemed to him almost, as if he had been born for naught but for the purpose of serving her, of loving her, even if only from afar. And if such love required him to die for her, for her happiness, he knew even now, as he watched the sparkle of her gown flit away amidst the silver and gold of the forest, that he was more than willing to do it, without fear, or hesitation. He had held her for a moment, a brief moment. And for an instant, he had held eternity within his arms.


	23. Chapter 22

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 22**

**June 15, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

**Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is the creation of the great J.R.R. Tolkien.**

Announcement: I hope you are enjoying this story thus far. If you like my writing, feel free to check out my published works, **The Birthright** and **The King's Heir** on Amazon. Type my name, Loralee Evans, into search, and it will bring them both up.

Chapter 22

"Legolas," Aragorn said, trying to keep his voice even, though he could hear the stern hardness in it as he came around the trunk of a tree to see the Mirkwood Elf seated on a large rock, a handful of small pebbles in one hand, somberly tossing them with the other into a clear, sparkling stream. His posture was much like Boromir's had been the night before when the two humans had talked. Boromir had spoken of his people, of his grief for his father's failing rule, and his fear of his people's ultimate fall. Aragorn had sensed that there was more troubling him, but Boromir had offered no more, and Aragorn had not pressured him.

Legolas looked up at him, his expression carefully checked. "Aragorn." He greeted in return, and went back to flipping stones into the water.

Aragorn sat lightly on a nearby root, watching Legolas carefully. A long moment passed, and neither man said anything until Aragorn finally spoke quietly, "Lalaith told me."

Legolas' hand stopped mid toss, and the few pebbles left in his hand tumbled in a shower to the forest floor. With great effort Legolas looked up, and Aragorn flinched, seeing intense, wretched pain in his gaze.

"I hurt her." Legolas said slowly, his words flat, though Aragorn could sense underlying turmoil beneath his words.

"Yes, you did." Aragorn continued, forcing his voice to remain even.

"I did not wish to, but it is what needed to be done." Legolas returned. Thoughtfully, he drew the ring she had given him from off his smallest finger, and held it, turning it over, watching how the light glanced off the surface of the blue stone set within the circle of delicately wrought gold. "She is no less than a goddess. And I am but an Elf. She is too good for me."

Aragorn drew in a deep breath, and released it. Too well, he understood Legolas' feelings. Arwen, his own love, was an immortal Elf, and he was but a mortal, doomed eventually, to die, and she with him, if she bound herself to him. For a moment, his hand went to his throat, and he fingered the delicate necklace of the Evenstar, the gift from Arwen, that hung there beneath his tunic.

"But what would you have done, had you looked into the Mirror, and learned that she was the daughter of the lowest of servants, or even if she was the unwanted child of a poor maiden, taken advantage of by some dishonorable rogue?" Aragorn demanded gently as his hand fell back.

Legolas' gaze moved to Aragorn, his brows knitting together, the muscles of his smooth jaw working beneath his skin.

"You would love her, still." Aragorn said quietly. "For I know you. It would not matter to you if she was of a lower birth than you. Why should it matter that her parents are Valar?"

"_She_ is a Vala!" Legolas protested painfully. "What am I, compared to her?"

"Listen to what you are saying." Aragorn answered smoothly, though there was intensity in his voice. "Did you not see all that she saw within the Mirror? She told me that her father spoke of her finding love among the Elves. Lord Manwe could have been speaking of no one else but you."

"Could one such as I be permitted to love her?" Legolas breathed quietly. "Yes. If not, I would have been struck dead by her father's wrath by now. Protect her? Yes. I would die for her, if the Valar required me to." Legolas focused his tormented gaze away. "But could I ever _wed_ her? Could I bind myself to her as her husband? It would be near blasphemy. She is the daughter of Elbereth and Manwe!"

"Her parents may be Valar, but she is no higher a being than you." Aragorn insisted, reaching forward and clapping a hand on the Elf's shoulder. "A goddess could not bleed, Legolas. She could not nearly die, as Lalaith almost did from the wound the orc gave her in Moria. Her parents would not allow you to desire her, or her to desire you, if the consummation of that were blasphemy."

"You are human, Aragorn. The Valar are as gods to us. You could not understand." Legolas shook Aragorn's hand roughly from his shoulder, and stood to walk away.

"Legolas." Aragorn ordered firmly, standing himself, and Legolas, his back stiff, obeyed, though reluctantly. "I understand that Lalaith is the nearest I have ever had to a sister, and that to see her suffering wrenches my own heart. Could a goddess feel such agony over the rejection of a _mere_ Elf? By his betrayal of all the vows he ever made to her? By his casting her heart to the ground, and forgetting that he ever loved her at all?"

Legolas spun, turning back to face Aragorn. But for the agony written on his face, his expression would have been livid. "Have you heard nothing I have said, Aragorn?" He demanded, his jaw set. "I still love her! With every fiber of my being, I love her. And I will love her for all the ages of this world. I will never break the vows I made to her, though I know now, that I can never bind myself to her, as has been my hope for centuries." He glanced sharply away, fighting for the control of his emotions. "That hope is now dead, forever, but I will always love her. I would die for her still, if it was required of me."

"Have you not thought of Thingol who was but an Elf, and the Lady Melian, whom he took as his bride?" Aragorn demanded in a hissing whisper. "Melian was a Maia! Why should the union of a Sindarin Elf with the daughter of Valar be so forbidden?"

Legolas swallowed hard. "The Lady Elerrina is not of the Maiar. She is a Vala. I am not worthy of her."

"You are wrong, my friend." Aragorn breathed, keeping his voice even. Aragorn drew in a slow deep breath, his thoughts turning momentarily to Arwen, and his heart twinged as he spoke. "There is none better, for you are the one who owns her heart."

"I cannot have her, but I will never stop loving her." Legolas said slowly, feeling a heaviness building in his chest. He stopped turning the ring within his hands, and clutched it tightly in one fist. "And I will treat her heart as gently as I can while I possess it, though what she and I both want, cannot be."

Aragorn released a frustrated sigh. "Were you not my friend, I think I would pummel you to the ground for your stubborn blindness."

"And I would surely deserve it." Legolas breathed. "It would only be just, after what I have done to her."

"So you say you still love her." Aragorn let out a heavy breath. "Go then, if you still love her and tell her as much, at the least." He ordered, his eyes intense, indicating with one hand, back the way they had come. "That might bring her _some_ peace."

Legolas nodded slowly. He understood the wisdom of Aragorn's words, though he did not relish facing her again after what he had done. Nor did he look forward to the memories that the sight of her face and her fair form would bring back. The warmth of her touch, the taste of her mouth joyfully returning his own passion, the supple feel of her in his arms, warming his blood, her softness pressing against him, and all the hopeful dreams and desires that had filled his mind when he held her.

He would not feel such agony now, if they had only remained friends, as they had been when she was little. It was his fault, he knew. No wonder she had been so afraid to love him back the first time he had kissed her, and professed his love to her. It was more than her fear of the evil in her past. A part of her also remembered who she was, and did not want to hurt him, or be hurt by him. But he had been too foolish to see that, his anxiety to protect her overshadowing the good that had created her, before the evil that had been there, had tried to destroy her.

But would it have been better if he had not loved her to begin with? He asked himself again. No. He admitted. Loving her, even now, gave his life meaning. And even if he had known who she was from the beginning, his learning to love her as he did now, would still have been inevitable. He was born to love none but her. And even if he could never truly express his love to her, he could not regret his feelings. His caring for her, had led him to vow his protection to her, and now, as he had seen in the Lady Galadriel's Mirror, the evil of Mordor longed for Lalaith's destruction with a thirst that was greater than Legolas had first realized. If it was necessary for her to face this evil and defeat it, she still needed him. And though now, his love for her was laced with pain, he would not trade it for all the jewels of Arda.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Aragorn's concerned eyes. Though many of Aragorn's words had been harsh, Legolas still knew Isildur's heir was his friend. He could see it in the concern of the human's eyes. Aragorn offered him a half hearted smile, but though he tried, Legolas could not bring himself to return it. Wordlessly, he turned and started slowly back in the way Aragorn had indicated.

Lalaith felt weary beyond the fatigue in her body as she stumbled back into the clearing where the others of the fellowship were. The trees were brighter now, and the air filled with the morning calls of birds. Her other companions were awake now. Three of the hobbits, and Gimli were seated on the ground around a low table where a breakfast of fruit and fresh wine had been set out for them by the Lorien Elves.

Frodo was still struggling to wake up. He was sitting up, though still in the spot where he had slept, his blanket still covering most of him, rubbing his eyes, which were red and bleary as if he had gotten little sleep, and his clothes were rumpled, as if what sleep he did get, was spent tossing restlessly about. And Lalaith wondered if perhaps he too had peered into the Mirror at Galadriel's bidding. It was highly probably that he had, being the bearer of the One Ring, and carrying so much responsibility as he did. Boromir had returned as Lalaith had been out on her wanderings, but he sat off by himself, barely glancing up as Lalaith drew close to the group. Aragorn and Legolas, however, were nowhere to be seen.

"Ah, here's the elf-girl!" Gimli cried in an affable, friendly voice, raising his glass in his meaty fist as Lalaith came into view, and approached the group seated at the table, trying for their sakes, to paint a smile upon her face. In spite of her efforts, though, Gimli noticed something was wrong immediately.

"Come, sit down with us, Lalaith!" He offered generously, though there was concern now in his voice. "Tell us what's wrong."

Collapsing heavily to the ground between Pippin and Gimli, Lalaith rested her elbows on the table, and buried her face in her hands.

"Some wine, Lady Lalaith?" Pippin offered cheerily as he chomped on whatever it was he was eating, and Lalaith lifted her eyes to see the sweet, little face of the hobbit as he offered her a glass.

"Oh, Pippin. No thank you." She said, her voice soft and weak as she waved his proffered glass away. "I do not feel like eating or drinking anything, for the moment."

"What's wrong?" Sam asked gently from across the table as Merry looked on with concern, swallowing what he'd been eating with a loud gulp.

"She and Legolas had a-," Boromir offered from the root where he sat, his elbows propped wearily on his knees, "a disagreement. She will not speak of it."

"Ohh. That's too bad." Merry offered sympathetically.

"Auh." Gimli grunted with a knowing nod. "Lover's quarrel."

"I wish it was a mere lover's quarrel." Lalaith offered in a small voice, feeling her throat tightening into a hard knot. "But it could not be, since Legolas has taken back his love."

"_What_? No!" Gimli insisted, his voice thick with genuine shock as the hobbits looked at each other in dismay. "What kind of nonsense are you talking? That's ridiculous!" Gimli finished.

"No." Lalaith shook her head. "Last night I looked into Lady Galadriel's mirror."

Frodo was up now, though still weary, yawning and stretching, and listening with as much interest as he could muster.

"The truth of who I am was revealed."

"And what does that have to do with _anything_ between you and Legolas?" Gimli demanded impatiently.

"My parents are Manwe and Elbereth. Valar. I was kidnapped as a baby by Sauron's servants, but rescued by a human woman who died saving me, and I was raised in Imladris, thinking all the while that I was of the race of Elves."

Boromir lifted his head and looked at her, his face taking on a pained grimace, but Lalaith did not see this.

"You're a _Vala_?" Gimli gasped, and his lips, peeking through his beard, formed a small circle of astonishment for a short silent moment, before he released a short bark of a laugh, his round bearded face glowing with enthusiasm. "Are you? No jesting?" At Lalaith's hesitant nod, he set his wine glass down, and punched her good naturedly on the shoulder. "By the Valar!" He crowed, before he settled back and coughed awkwardly, realizing what he had said. "Er, uh, begging _your_ pardon, Lalaith."

"So you're not going to start bowing to me, or treating me any differently than before?" She asked wearily, her eyes traveling from Gimli to the hobbit's faces, still frozen with expressions of surprise etched onto them.

"Is that what he's doing?" Gimli asked, sobering quickly, his expression returning again to a look of sympathy. "The great dolt. I always thought Elves were too serious for their own good. Can't get passed his own stubborn pride."

"It is not pride that has done this, but the opposite." Lalaith muttered sadly. "Legolas is convinced that he is far too unworthy of me. He has taken his heart back, and cast my own aside."

"No, Lady. He loves you still." Boromir's voice rose from the tree where he sat upon the jutting root, and Lalaith turned to see his eyes, sad and drawn. "He will never stop loving you. He is not that great a fool."

Lalaith turned back to the table, dropping her head once again into her hands. _Boromir, stop looking at me like that._ Her mind cried. _I could not bear it if something happened to you, because of me_!

"Looks to me, like the blasted Elf's _acting_ like a fool." Gimli's brash voice cut in over the somber tones of Boromir's. "You need me to take the flat of my ax to his head, Lalaith?" The dwarf growled, and thumped his ax that sat beside him against the ground to illustrate his meaning. "Or maybe turn him over my knee and paddle some sense into him?" The attempt at humor in Gimli's tone warmed, a little, the broken shards of Lalaith's heart, and she managed to offer him a sliver of a smile before her gaze trailed to Frodo who was drawing nearer, still yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"I _could_." Gimli offered eagerly, only partly joking. "I may not be _much_ of a gentleman, but I won't stand around doing nothing, if that idiot's gone and made you cry."

But Lalaith hardly heard what Gimli said now, for she was staring hard at Frodo. His shirt had once again fallen open at the top, and she could see the glimmer of the ring where it lay against his chest.

_Did you miss the sound of my voice, snaga_?

Lalaith gasped, and leaped to her feet, nearly upsetting the table as she stumbled clumsily backward. She would have fallen altogether, but for Boromir who rose quickly, and caught hold of her arms from behind to steady her.

"What's the matter with Lady Lalaith?" Pippin's voice chirped somewhere in the background, but Lalaith barely heard him.

_So your lover knows who you are now, does he, snaga_? The ring's voice hissed. _And where is he now, with all his vows of love, and his promises to stay beside you always? He never loved you, snaga. You should have been flung into the fire long ago. A Vala in the body of an Elf. You are a blemish on nature. Is it any wonder your parents never came to claim you back? They didn't want you because you are an Elf! And now he does not want you because you are a Vala-,_

"It's the ring." Boromir barked, realization suddenly dawning. "For the sake of Eru, cover it, Frodo!"

Frodo's hand quickly clapped over the ring, and its hideous voice was hushed. But it had done its damage. Lalaith cried, hearing a wretched sob tear from her lungs.

Boromir turned her to him, and held her against his shoulder as she sobbed, and for the moment, she could not pull away. "She's not strong enough to handle it, as some others of us are." Boromir scolded Frodo who gulped and quickly buttoned his shirt to cover the ring.

"I-, I'm sorry, Lalaith." Frodo gulped. "It's just been so long since the ring has done this to you. I forgot-,"

"No, Frodo." Lalaith choked, finally wrenching herself from Boromir's grasp. She turned away, avoiding the hurt look in the human's eyes to face the large, frightened eyes of the small hobbit. "It is not your fault. But-," she waved a hand at him dismissively. "Keep it away from me."

She turned to walk away, and nearly collided into Legolas' chest as he emerged from the trees, Aragorn trailing several steps behind.

Lalaith gasped, and stumbled back, taking in his own agonized face, not missing that he was holding, within his palm, the ring she had given him the day they had pledged their troth to each other.

Lalaith's eyes dropped to the ring in his hand, and then lifted up to his soft blue eyes, which before had always brightened when they looked upon her, but were now dull with misery.

"There is a reason, Legolas, that you are not wearing my ring?" She asked, surprised at how calm her voice sounded. She kept her words in the Common Tongue, not caring that the others understood.

Legolas' eyes dropped to the ring resting in his palm, and answered in the same tongue, "I thought I should return it since-,"

"I do not want it back," Lalaith shot back. Her voice was sharp, though she had not meant for it to be.

Legolas gulped, "I do not feel worthy-,"

"Very well." Lalaith snapped, and snatched the ring from his palm. Legolas flinched, but Lalaith hardly noticed as she tossed the ring into the trees, the glimmer of the shining blue stone catching the rising light that filtered from overhead before it fell somewhere amidst the growth of the forest floor. She smiled sardonically. " That we could rid Middle Earth of the One Ring as easily as that paltry trifle!"

Legolas' hand that had held the ring trembled, and closed in, empty, upon itself. He glanced helplessly at Aragorn, but the human only tightened his jaw, and dropped his eyes downward, saying nothing.

Legolas gulped hard, and blinked back the tears that were forming in his eyes. "Please." He said softly. "My Lady-,"

"Don't _call_ me that!" Lalaith cried. Her voice was suddenly harsh, but she could not stop herself. "I am not your _Lady_, Legolas! I am your love! Your life! Your _lalaith_! Do you remember _nothing_ that happened between us, before you looked with me into the Mirror?"

Legolas opened his mouth. "I am sorry that I have hurt you." He managed to murmur through the choking in his throat.

"Indeed, my _Lord_?" She asked, sniffling, clasping her hands in front of her, and forcing her voice to return to the sedate tone it had held before. "And I suppose that you think that the mere utterance of such words will heal the wounds upon my heart?"

"I hoped-,"

"You hoped wrong, Prince." She gulped, smiling bitterly. She stepped back from him, watching as a single tear streamed down his face. The urge to reach a hand out, and brush it away, was almost overwhelming. But she remembered his reaction to her earlier, when she had tried to touch him, and refrained.

A breath swelled in Legolas' chest, and he spoke softly, now in the soft flow of Elvish, "I will fight for you, and destroy those who would hurt you, my Lady. For I will not forget what I promised you." His eyes studied her, tender yet intense at once. "Though all the ages of this world pass, never will I stop loving you, Lady Elerrina, of the Valar."

Lalaith gulped. At the tone of his voice, her bottom lip trembled, and against her will, she felt a single tear fall from her lashes, leaving a wet trail down her smooth cheek.

"It would be better to have you near, than to lose you completely." She answered. "For never will I cease to love you, Prince Legolas."

She heard a soft grunt of a sigh behind Legolas, and noticed Aragorn, still glancing downward, as he rubbed a hand thoughtfully across his mouth.

She gulped hard herself, and dropped in a slight curtsey, returning to the choppy tones of the Common Speech. "If you would be kind enough to excuse me, my Lord, Legolas. I wish to go, and be alone for a while." She turned away from him and started for the stone steps that led upward toward her tent, but paused, and glanced quickly at Boromir who was watching after her with pain in his eyes as if he wanted to follow. "Please, Lord Boromir. Do not follow me this time." She glanced at Gimli and the hobbits, who sat frozen, where they had been watching the exchange between her and Legolas with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

She smiled at them sadly, then turned and walked quietly away.


	24. Chapter 23

**Lothirien of Lorien - Chapter 2**

**June 20, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 2

Lothirien sipped thoughtfully at her wine glass as she glanced across the room at Lalaith. The other maiden looked very lovely tonight, graced with a gown of soft silky pink that hung lightly at the edges of her smooth shoulders, her hair, hanging free and long, though some of her golden locks had been twisted in shimmering whorls on her head where small pink blossoms had been tucked in, matching her gown. She was indeed a beautiful sight. So why, Lothirien wondered, were Prince Legolas' eyes focused so intently upon the open floor encircled by the ring of dining tables, instead of upon the face of his beloved?

Legolas, seated directly beside the Lady Lalaith, would occasionally steal glances at her, as she would at him. But whenever their eyes chanced to meet, they would look quickly away, their countenances troubled. This confused Lothirien immensely, for she knew of the great caring and love between them, and she could see even now, in their faces, how much ardor was there, when one looked upon the other. It was almost as if a wall had been suddenly thrown up between them, which they both wanted to penetrate, but somehow could not.

"Haldir," She whispered to her own beloved, seated beside her, and turned to look at him. As her eyes found him, she could not help but smile as he turned to her, a questioning expression on his face, his full mouth pausing in its chewing.

"Haldir." She giggled softly, lifting her hand to brush a crumb from the side of his mouth. "You're eating like a ravenous hobbit."

Haldir glanced across the circle of tables at the four hobbits who sat together, greedily devouring the food that had been placed before them. Pippin and Merry none too concerned about neatness.

Haldir sheepishly gulped down what was in his mouth, and muttered, "You're not yet my wife, and already you're nagging me." But this was said with a playful twinkle in his eyes, and Lothirien giggled, knowing he was teasing her. To ensure that he did not mean what he had said, Haldir grinned himself, and caught her hand within his as it brushed away the crumb from his face, and softly kissed her fingertips, the mischievous gleam in his eyes growing deep and warm as he gazed long into her own eyes.

"In truth, Lothirien, I know you will not nag." He said with a soft smile. "And I am counting the days with anticipation when you will finally be mine."

Lothirien returned the deep ardor of his gaze until a gloomy countenance caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to see Prince Legolas watching them, a sad shadow darkening his once bright eyes before he glanced quickly away.

"Haldir," she murmured, returning to her previous thought, "did you notice-,".

"I did." He answered, in return. "I noticed it several days ago, in fact."

"Whatever could be wrong?" Lothirien mused.

"I do not know." Haldir murmured in return. "I asked Lord Aragorn, but he said it was not his place to say." Haldir ended his words with a helpless shrug.

Lothirien sighed, and gnawed her lip softly, worriedly. But she had little time to muse over her unanswered questions, for a group of musicians in one corner of the room, had struck up a lively tune, and couples were already beginning to fill the open area before them with light steps and graceful swirls of color.

"May I have the honor, my Lady?" Haldir asked in mock formality as he stood and offered a hand to Lothirien, requesting permission to dance.

"The honor would be mine, my Lord." Lothirien answered with a smile as she took the hand he offered, and allowed him to lead her onto the open floor.

She smiled up into her beloved's face as he twirled her skillfully around the dance floor, almost forgetting Lalaith and the distance that had mysteriously grown so suddenly between her and Prince Legolas. But she could not forget for long. For Lalaith was a dear friend, and Lothirien could not be perfectly contented if Lalaith was sad. It was, after all, because of Lalaith that Lothirien and Haldir were together. Had she said nothing, only Varda knew how much more time would have passed, before Lothirien and Haldir discovered that they shared each other's feelings.

She glanced quickly over at where Lalaith was seated, to see her staring off at nothing, while beside her, Legolas had propped his elbows upon the edge of the table, his head cradled in his hands as if he were suddenly beyond weariness. Lord Aragorn, however, had risen, and with a glance of annoyance at the Mirkwood Elf, had started toward Lalaith's chair.

At least Lalaith would dance with _someone_. Lothirien realized with relief. But as Haldir spun her around, and she glanced toward Lalaith again, she saw, with surprise, that Boromir, the Lord from Gondor, had risen, and had approached Lalaith's place before Aragorn could reach her.

"May I have this dance, Lalaith?" Boromir asked, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle as he offered the Elf Maiden his hand, his eyes warm with hope that she would accept it.

"Certainly, my Lord." Lalaith returned quietly, and slipped her hand, though reluctantly, into the Man's, and rose.

Lothirien traded a glance of surprise with Haldir who had noticed this as well, as Boromir and Lalaith joined the couples on the floor. For being human, the son of the Steward of Gondor was surprisingly graceful and light footed, his skill at dancing surpassing even that of some of her fellow Elves. Lalaith smiled shyly up into his eyes as the Man swirled her around the dance floor, but always, every chance she had, she would glance back toward Legolas' place. Lothirien followed her gaze to see the Mirkwood Prince watching his love in the arms of the Lord of Gondor, now not with mere sadness in his eyes, but, it seemed to Lothirien, abject misery.

"By Aule." The Dwarf Gimli muttered sarcastically, roughly nudging Legolas with his elbow as Haldir and Lothirien passed close to them, followed by a grunt of annoyance. "Boromir actually _touched_ her, and he's not dead! He's not _writhing_ in agony. He's not even _close_ to being in pain! Imagine that!"

"Gimli!" Aragorn, who had retaken his seat, said sharply, casting a hard glance at the Dwarf as the misery on Legolas' face only deepened.

At Aragorn's sharp reprimand, Gimli bit his tongue, but continued to glare at the Elf with contempt in his eyes.

After several long moments of this, Legolas at last burst to his feet and strode away and out of the dining hall. His footsteps fell heavily, noisily for an Elf, as he descended the steps leading down and around the great Mallorn in whose branches the great hall was built.

Lothirien glanced at Lalaith who had seen him leave, and had stopped suddenly, awkwardly, glancing up at Boromir, her eyes pleading for forgiveness.

"I do not think I can do this any more, Boromir." She murmured, and turned to hurry away, though in a different direction than Legolas had gone. She left Boromir standing awkwardly as she hurried out through the fluted, elegantly carved doors and onto the balcony that edged the dining hall, and Lothirien watched her go, her mind roiling in confusion. For Lalaith to have left the poor Man standing there as he was-, unless there was some explanation, was horribly rude.

"Haldir," Lothirien pleaded, slowing to a stop. "Go see to Lalaith. I do not know what is wrong-," she looked up into her lover's eyes who gazed down into her own with as much concern as she herself felt.

"And you will save the Lord of Gondor from otherwise inescapable embarrassment." Haldir said with a nod of understanding, and turned to hurry after Lalaith.

"Dance with me, my Lord." Lothirien cried playfully, skipping up to the Man, and taking Boromir's hands in her own. "Come. Lady Lalaith has been altogether too selfish to keep you to herself."

Boromir had been watching Lalaith go with wistful eyes, almost as if he were ignorant to the awkward position Lalaith had left him in. But when Lothirien came to him, he turned away from gazing after Lalaith, and studied this new Elf maid's eyes, a grateful smile coming to his bearded lips, and he allowed her to take his hands, willingly enough, and dance with her. Though, Lothirien noticed, not with as much enthusiasm as he had when he had danced with Lalaith.

"I am sorry, my Lord." Lothirien muttered in a softer voice as they joined the rest of the dancers once again. "I cannot understand why my Lady would do such a thing."

"Oh, but I do." Boromir said with a sad frown, glancing toward the doorway where Lalaith had exited. Lothirien glanced there as well, seeing Haldir standing near Lalaith who was leaning dejectedly on the rail of burnished silver, her face turned away from him as Haldir questioned her gently. Lothirien could see from the look on her lover's fair, handsome face that Lalaith's answers to his questions were less than satisfactory.

"Perhaps it is because I am so ignorant, and young, and with such little understanding of your ways, and your customs." Boromir continued, an air of self contempt in his words as he spoke. "Your worship of the Valar, and your reverence for their power-," he glanced down at Lothirien who was studying his eyes, trying to guess at the meaning of his words, and he cut off his thought quickly.

"But I can see no difference between the maiden she was a few days ago, to the one she is now. I do not understand it. She does not deserve this. Can Legolas not see the pain he is causing by-,"

He glanced down at Lothirien, offered her a sad, apologetic smile, and once again brought an awkward end to his words.

"You know of the nature of the difficulty that has come between her and Prince Legolas. But it is something you cannot talk about." Lothirien guessed with a sigh.

"It would be best if I did not." He said with a soft nod.

"Very well." Lothirien agreed. "I will not pry where I have no need to." She smiled softly up at Boromir. "She is lucky, I think, to have your friendship, and understanding at least."

Boromir offered a soft snort. "My _friendship_." He repeated in a deep, troubled voice as the music came at last to an end.

Lothirien bit her lip, not understanding his words or the tone of his voice. "Thank you, my Lord." She said with a curtsey.

"And you, my Lady." He said, managing a warm smile at last, as he offered Lothirien a bow, then glanced up, his eyes straying to the door leading to the balcony, and his glance darted about as Lothirien turned to see Haldir reenter the room, and offer her a helpless shrug. Lalaith was nowhere to be seen.

"What is it?" She asked in a whisper as she rejoined Haldir, and wove her fingers through his, grateful for the warm touch of his hand. Behind her, Boromir had returned to his own seat, and had fallen heavily, dejectedly into it.

"She told me nothing. She left a moment ago. She is weary, she claimed, and wanted nothing more than to sleep." Haldir said unhappily.

Neither Haldir nor Lothirien felt any more like dancing, and so in silent consent, they left the hall, and entered the soft cool light of the night, slowly descending the steps, side by side, their voices low, though there was no one else about. "It was as if she feared telling me. As if she thought I might judge her harshly." He shook his head.

"That is how Lord Boromir seemed." Lothirien nodded sadly. "A part of me wishes he had told me. It seems as if all of their Fellowship understands what is wrong, but none will tell. It is frustrating, but then I understand it is not my place."

"Still it is difficult." Haldir released a deep breath, nodding his agreement. "She is our friend, after all."

The couple had reached the forest floor, and Haldir was content to allow Lothirien the lead as she aimlessly chose a path on which they could wander, and speak of their concerns as they did.

"Whatever it is, I can see that their feelings for each other have not changed." Lothirien murmured softly. The path she had chosen led into thick trees, some of the oldest Mellyrn of Lorien, where little light could reach the ground. It was dark enough in the daytime, but now, beneath the shadows of night, even less was visible, bathing all around them in soft, warm shadow. "Their love is as great as ever. I can see it in the way they look at each other. But something strange has happened." She furrowed her brow. "Some-, some-,"

"Wall has grown between them. Unwanted by both of them, but as real as if it were made of stone." Haldir finished with a nod.

"Yes." Lothirien sighed. She stopped beneath one of the ancient trees, and leaned her back wearily against its smooth bark. Haldir stopped before her, and she smiled up into his warm eyes, contemplating his own gentle smile, and the perfection of his handsome face.

"Strange it is, that we are not yet married, and yet you can finish my thoughts before I myself utter them." She laughed softly as he drew closer, and placed both hands on either side of her against the tree's bark.

"Only because my wise, brave Lothirien came up with such words first. And I, in my simple mindedness, must struggle to even pretend to match her wisdom." Haldir muttered with a grin as he placed a soft kiss on the end of her nose.

"No!" Lothirien giggled, slapping Haldir gently in the chest. "You are at least as wise as I am, if not more-," But her light hearted laugh ended abruptly as he leaned in, his gaze now dark and warm, his humor fled, and kissed her mouth warmly, his lips soft and lingering over hers.

Thoughts of Lalaith's sad plight fled from Lothirien's mind as Haldir drew her into his arms, and she circled her own arms around his neck, sighing contentedly as his warm lips traveled slowly from her mouth to her jaw, to the soft flesh of her throat. How many weeks were left until they married? She contemplated in her distracted mind as her own fingers trailed along Haldir's neck, and wove into his soft golden hair. Three weeks, she remembered. A surprisingly short engagement, especially by elven standards, she admitted to herself, but now, to her, it seemed as if their wedding was ages away.

Slowly she opened her eyes, still immersed in the ecstasy of Haldir's touch, but when she saw the illuminated figure on the path before them, standing awkwardly, and trying to glance away, she gasped aloud, and pushed Haldir forcefully back.

"Lothirien," he gulped confused, "what-, oh." He muttered as he turned to see the maiden from Imladris watching them, her face written with a mixture of embarrassment and misery.

"Lothirien, Haldir." Lalaith stammered, her usually soft voice thick with stifled emotion. "My friends, I am sorry I disturbed you."

"No, Lady Lalaith." Lothirien was quick to cut in, and hurry toward the Elf maiden's side before Lalaith could escape. "We're sorry." She laughed softly. "It must have been awkward seeing us-,"

"No, it is understandable." Lalaith cut off the other maiden's words quickly. "Your wedding is only a few weeks away." She struggled to smile, but could not mask the sadness in her eyes. "It is good for you that you should be able to-," Her words ended as her throat caught chokingly on a breath. Lothirien could see the glimmer of tears on her cheeks before Lalaith brushed them away.

Lothirien sighed, and caught Haldir's hand in her own as she felt him come up behind her, and place a hand gently on her shoulder.

"Lothirien has noticed, as I have, that something has come between you and Legolas." Haldir explained softly.

"Do not think on it for a moment!" Lalaith pleaded. "You cannot let what has happened with Legolas and me, stifle your own happiness."

"You are our friend, my Lady." Lothirien demanded gently. "How could we not be worried about you?"

"Oh, Lothirien." Lalaith moaned beseechingly. "Please, call me nothing but Lalaith. We are friends, and I am nearly two millennia younger than you. Do not call me `Lady' any more. I hear that word too much from-, others."

Lothirien nodded readily. "If that is what you want-, Lalaith. I will do as you wish. But you _are_ a princess. A great lady."

"No." Lalaith murmured, and a stifled sob caught in her throat. "No, I am not." She shook her head miserably. Hopelessly. "I am _not_."

Stifling another sob in her throat, Lalaith turned and ran away, stumbling awkwardly as she ran, her face buried in her hands, leaving Lothirien and Haldir to wonder after her sudden flight, now even more confused than they had been before.


	25. Chapter 24

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 23**

**June 24, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 23

Lalaith lifted her eyes to Celeborn and Galadriel who stood side by side, gazing once again, upon the Fellowship before she glanced away and down, her eyes focused on nothing. This was her last night in Lothlorien, and to Lalaith, it was a moment of both relief and dread. Relief that at last their Quest would be renewed. And dread, for she could not deny her fear of the dark and evil they were to soon inevitably face. She stood beneath the thrones of the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim, beside her companions as she had the first day they had come to Caras Galadhon. Lalaith sighed softly to herself and studied the fabric of the gown she wore as it clung delicately to the soft curves of her body, a light, sparkling green, the color of new, young leaves. Tonight was the last night she would wear something soft and pretty, and she was already missing the lovely gowns Galadriel's maids had given her. They had been in Lothlorien for several days now, and tomorrow, was the day they would depart to continue their Quest. And in all that time, since the morning she had woken after peering into the Mirror, Legolas had barely spoken to her, and not once, had he so much as touched her. Was the pain as exquisite for him, as it was for her? She wondered, feeling the heat of him as he stood beside her, as real as if she stood beside a warm fire. Before they had peered into Galadriel's Mirror, she had not realized how dependant she was upon him, how a simple touch of his hand could give her strength, how his glance, and his smile could fill her with courage and light, and the feeling that nothing was unconquerable while he was near her.

Gimli and the hobbits, the Valar bless them, had treated her no differently. But they were not Elves. They did not entirely understand the reverence in which Elves held the Valar, most especially, Varda, Elbereth, the Star Queen. Aragorn understood the ways of Elves, but he still acknowledged Lalaith as an equal, which gave her some comfort. But Boromir-, Lalaith sighed again. Whenever he was in her company, she could feel his sad, boyish eyes following her every movement. She hoped against all reason that it was only because he was sad for her plight, as the others were. But no one else, save for Legolas, had ever looked at her as deeply and warmly. Even Haldir, before he realized how he truly felt for Lothirien, had never looked at her like Boromir did.

She was drawn back to the present when Legolas, standing beside her, shifted his weight slightly, and his knuckles inadvertently brushed her own. She instinctively, without even thinking, reached to grasp his hand, for that is how they had always been, whenever they had stood side by side, for as long as she could remember. Even when she had been a child, she could not be beside him without slipping her hand into his. But with a quick breath, Legolas jerked his hand away before their fingers could even touch.

Lalaith sighed softly, and Legolas heard, turning his head slightly to look briefly at her, but she could not return his gaze.

"Now is the time," Celeborn said, bringing Lalaith's eyes up to focus on the Lord of the Galadhrim, "when those who wish to continue the Quest must harden their hearts to leave this land. Those who no longer wish to go forward, may remain here for a while." At these words, Celeborn's eyes rested gently upon Lalaith, and she was reminded of Elrond's eyes, softened with worry as they had been, the day she had departed Imladris. She offered him a small smile, which he returned, before he continued to speak. "But whether they stay or go, none can be sure of peace. For we are come now to the edge of doom. Here those who wish may await the oncoming of the hour till either the ways of the world lie open again, or we summon them to the last need of Lorien. Then they may return to their own lands, or else go to the long home of those that fall in battle."

There was silence. For the smallest sliver of time, Lalaith felt the urge to remain, to stay here in the beauty and safety of Lorien, away from the pain the sight of Legolas' face, agonized, confused, and worshipful all at once, caused in her heart, as well as Boromir's sad gaze. But she knew that she could not. She had given her pledge to Frodo. She would stay with him on his way to Mordor, as long as she was able. And she could not shrink from her own quest. Sauron had bid his servants destroy her when she had been an infant, and now she knew the reason. She was a child of the Valar, with the blood of Elbereth and Manwe in her veins, and Sauron feared her, and hated her for that reason. She needed, for her own peace, to face those who had tried to destroy her, to show them that she was no longer a child, to prove to them, and to herself, to the Valar, and all of Arda, that she was no longer helpless under their power. She could not let another do it for her. Though, she reminded herself, she still had Legolas' pledge that he would stay beside her and help her face those she had feared, even if she had nothing else from him.

"They all resolved to go forward." Galadriel answered, her eyes sweeping over the Fellowship, though Lalaith did not dare to look up into her eyes.

"We will furnish your Company with boats." Celeborn continued. "They are small and light, and may make your journey less toilsome for a while."

Lalaith sighed softly. That was one small comfort. Whatever perils lay ahead of them now, the journey seemed less troublesome to float down the broad tide of the Anduin than to plod slowly forward along the shore.

"All shall be prepared for you and await you at the haven before noon tomorrow." Celeborn continued. "I will send my people to you in the morning to help you make ready for the journey. Now we will wish you all a fair night and untroubled sleep."

"Goodnight, my friends." Galadriel added to Celeborn's words. "Sleep in peace! Do not trouble your hearts overmuch with thought of the road tonight. Maybe the paths that you each shall tread are already laid before your feet, though you do not yet see them. Good night."

Lalaith turned to move away with the others, before Celeborn's voice called her back.

"A moment, young Lalaith." He said, and she turned, waiting with quiet expectancy as the others filed away. Legolas, she sensed, paused a moment and turned back, his eyes resting upon her for a long moment, before he too, turned away and followed after the others.

"Yes, my Lord?" Lalaith murmured, her eyes focused only on Celeborn.

Celeborn and Galadriel traded a silent glance, and then together, descended the steps to stand before her.

"My Lady has told me of what you saw and learned in the Mirror." Celeborn said quietly.

"Oh." Lalaith sighed, and lowered her eyes. She had thought Galadriel might tell Celeborn, if no one else. They kept nothing from each other.

_Dear one,_ the words of Galadriel came into her mind, and Lalaith's eyes at last lifted to hers, she whom Lalaith had always thought of as a grandmother. Since she had looked into the Mirror, Lalaith had not had the courage to meet Galadriel's eyes, fearing to see the distance in them that she had seen in Legolas' face. _Will your eyes not even meet mine?_ Galadriel's face looked sad, hardly worshipful as she expected, and Lalaith bit her lip softly.

"Do you not see me now, as Legolas does?" Lalaith answered aloud, though her voice was soft. "That I am suddenly too good to deserve a kind glance, or a touch?"

"You are no less loved now, than you were before, dear one." Galadriel returned kindly, and somewhat remorsefully. "If I hurt you when I bowed to you, I am sorry."

"Legolas says he still loves me." Lalaith returned mournfully. "He says he is sorry. Little good it does me."

Galadriel's deep wise eyes grew bright with sudden tears, and to Lalaith's astonishment, the Lady of the Galadhrim stepped away from her husband's side, and drew Lalaith into a gentle embrace.

"My dear one." Galadriel smiled, and pushed the maiden's freely hanging long hair aside, softly brushing away the wetness that had suddenly appeared on the girl's cheeks. "We could not care more for you, if you were of our own blood."

Lalaith clung to Galadriel childishly as more tears came. She sensed Celeborn draw close, and felt his large, warm hand brush gently against her brow, and her hair.

"You have always been as a granddaughter to us." Celeborn added warmly. "That has not changed."

Lalaith blinked her eyes hard. "Is it wise for you to feel as you do?" She pleaded. "The morning after I looked into your Mirror, I heard the One Ring speak again. It spoke to me once in Imladris, when it called me _slave_ of Mordor in the black speech. This time, it said that Legolas did not love me. That he never had. And that my parents abandoned me, because I am a Vala in the body of an Elf, and did not want me. And Legolas did not want-,"

"Think not on anything the One Ring utters." Celeborn murmured in a firm voice. His hand rested upon her shoulder, and tightened gently. "You are no more unloved by the Valar than you are a slave of Mordor. All that the Ring utters is a lie. Never forget that."

Lalaith bit her lip. Those were near to the same words Elrond had spoken, when she had told him of what the Ring had said to her.

"Nor has _he_ stopped loving you, dear one." Galadriel added and drew back only far enough to gaze into her sad young eyes.

Lalaith murmured, "But why is it, my Lady, that things must be different now, between Legolas and me?"

Galadriel sighed. "For Prince Legolas to learn that you are greater than any of us ever imagined-, even more than I imagined, it is difficult to grasp."

"But why?" Lalaith pleaded. "I do not feel any different than before."

"But _he_ does, dear one." Galadriel said gently. "For Prince Legolas to suddenly discover that he has given his heart to a Vala, not any Vala, but the daughter of _Elbereth_, it is somewhat disconcerting." Galadriel answered quietly. "He has loved you all your life. First as a friend, and in the past centuries, he has grown to love you even more, with the sweet devotion of a lover. Yet never has he seen you as greater or lesser than himself." Lalaith sighed, remembering the first time Legolas had kissed her. She had pulled back, insisting that she was unworthy of him, that as he was a Prince, she did not deserve his love. But still, he had forgiven her abruptness and her fear, and he had loved her anyway.

"In his mind he is no longer your equal, but utterly unworthy of you." Celeborn added, his words slow and measured. "And this goes beyond mere rank. You are not simply an Elf of a higher birth. You are a Vala, a higher creation even, than the Maiar. To him, he could never accomplish enough to be worthy of you."

Lalaith sighed, her heart aching with every beat. "Do you mean I will never get him back? That we could never-," She turned to Galadriel with pleading in her eyes, "never truly show each other our love? I am not a Vala in the way my mother is, or my father. I am as fallible as any other Elf. I could die as easily as Legolas, in battle, or if he were to forget his love for me altogether, I know I would die from the grief in my heart."

Neither the Lord nor Lady said anything, but both simply studied Lalaith's face with quiet sympathy as the maiden spoke. But when Lalaith had finished, Galadriel opened her mouth, and answered slowly, "Someday, dear one, he will understand. I cannot see all ends, but I can see, even now, how dearly he loves you. And how pure and unselfish that love is. Whatever thoughts are troubling his mind, he will in the end, prove stronger than them. He will overcome them, in time. Do not despair."

"I hope you are right." She sighed. "And that the words of Aragorn and Boromir will prove true."

"What have they said?" Celeborn asked.

"They have told me that he loves me too much to be lost to me. That he will come back to me." Lalaith smiled softly. "Perhaps it is because the race of Men does not entirely understand our devotion to the Valar-,"

"And perhaps it is because the Children of Iluvatar's Secondborn see and understand more than you might think." Answered Galadriel gently, and she touched a soft hand to Lalaith's cheek.

Lalaith felt wetness rising anew in her eyes. "I pray you are right." She sighed.

Galadriel touched a hand softly to Lalaith's long hair, her smooth, tapered fingers running gently over the golden locks, feeling the silken sheen beneath them. "So much like Celebrian's." She said quietly, and traded a quiet smile with Celeborn. "You are departing tomorrow, with Prince Legolas and the rest of your Company. When we will see you again, none can say." Galadriel smiled sadly, before her lips parted as if she had been struck with a sudden thought. "May I have a lock of your hair?"

"Of course." Lalaith agreed, supposing that Galadriel wanted a lock to remember her by.

From within the folds of his cloak, Celeborn produced a small silver knife, and with it, Galadriel easily, painlessly, clipped a small lock from the maiden's head.

"Strong enough, and long enough to string a bow. Do you agree?" Galadriel said with a smile, as she wrapped the glittering lock around a finger.

Lalaith's brows lifted in surprise at what Galadriel had said. "I suppose-,"

"Very well." Galadriel smiled playfully. "Sleep well, dear one." Once again, she embraced Lalaith warmly, pressing a kiss to the maiden's smooth brow as she drew back.

"Yes, grandmother. And grandfather." Lalaith managed a smile of farewell, as she turned away and descended the long circular steps winding from their throne room slowly down, round the great Mallorn to the forest floor below.

Upon reaching the floor of the forest, Lalaith turned her steps in the direction of her tent, and the pavilion of her companions. The walk was not long, but it seemed that way by herself. She should have grown used to walking alone these past days, she berated herself inwardly, for she had spent much time alone.

The sound of a burbling brook drew close as the path she followed drew near a small stream. A gilded, arching footbridge spanned the small brook, and Lalaith paused as she crossed it to cast a glance into the crystal surface of the stream.

She gazed at her fair reflection in its surface, her eyes filled with sadness but still lovely, and the steady pulse beneath the pale skin of her throat. She was indeed beautiful. She remembered the beauty of her mother's face, and recognized the Star Queen's eyes in her own, and her hair, shining and golden, like both of her parents, especially her mother's.

"Little good it does me." She moaned as she turned away from her reflection and continued on. "What beauty I possess may never glow for the delight of my loved one." Her mind flew back to several nights before, wandering alone through the shadowed trees, when she had inadvertently stumbled upon Lothirien and Haldir, entwined in a passionate embrace. It had been more painful to see that shocking, for she had already learned how they felt about each other. It had only been the day after she looked into Galadriel's mirror, that the two of them had come to her, faces beaming, to give her the news. But she saw it in their eyes before any words came out. They had spoken, as she had bid them to do. They understood each other. They were in love, and betrothed now.

She did not grudge them their happiness, for she loved them both, dearly, and they deserved each other. They would be happy together, and Lothirien and Haldir would see her off in the morning, suspecting something, but not knowing fully what was wrong, and it was better that they did not know.

Lalaith's silken tent was coming into view. She could hear the voices of the hobbits below her as they prepared to settle for their last night in Lorien. Lalaith smiled softly to herself, hearing Pippin's cheery little voice muffled as he attempted to munch on something, and, at the same time, speak to Merry about the fluffiness of his own pillow compared to Merry's. She drew the curtain door aside, welcoming the softness of her bed and her cool sheets, knowing she would not have this luxury again for a long time.

"My Lady?" The voice, unexpectedly close, shook Lalaith, and she stopped in her doorway and dropped her eyes to the ground at her feet.

Legolas stood near, having approached silently, that she did not notice.

Lalaith gulped as Legolas slowly drew closer, and stopped near her, but not quite touching her.

Not knowing what else to do, Lalaith continued on into her tent, letting the flap fall shut behind her. She seated herself on her bed, and picked up a silver handled hairbrush from a carved wooden table beside her bed. She drew the length of her hair over one shoulder and began to comb through it slowly, half wondering if Legolas would follow, partly hoping he would not, even as another part of her ached to have him near.

In answer to her question, she heard the soft rustle of fabric as Legolas entered.

"Something troubles you, Lady Elerrina?" His soft warm voice came from behind her.

"Besides that the one I love is no longer mine?" Lalaith asked softly, blinking her eyes hard. His very presence was wonderful and painful at once. She turned away from him as he sat down beside her, hoping not to offend him, but knowing she must if she did not want to cry.

"You have not lost me." He returned, his own voice heavy. "I will remain ever at your side, your faithful servant as long as Arda endures."

"I do not want you as my servant." She murmured, glad that her voice did not grow harsh, for she did not want to hurt him. "I want you as my husband.

I want to fall asleep in your arms, beneath the stars, and wake to the sunlight with you beside me. I want to give myself to you, and share everything I am, with you."

"Never more can we labor under that false hope, my Lady." Legolas answered sadly. "I am but an Elf, weak, imperfect. And you-,"

She held up a hand sharply, silencing him. "Was there something you wanted, my Lord?"

"I-," he stammered, "I wanted to give you this." He reached forward. She could feel his warm breath on her bare shoulder and neck, and slipped his own bow into her lap. Lalaith stopped in her methodical brushing, and set the brush beside her on the bed. "You lost your own in Moria."

"But then, you have none." She said. She picked it up, and ran her hand reverently along the rich, dark brown wood of the bow, knowing that only moments before, it had been in his own hands. It was smooth and solid, and still warm from his touch. She half way turned, not quite enough to see his face. "Now you have no bow."

"You are as capable with a bow as I." He assured her. "And I will manage with my knives."

"You've given me this, so that I can better protect myself." She sighed. "Yet this would leave you with one less defense."

"My protection is of little importance. Frodo's safety, and your own safety are what matter to me."

"I would that I had something to give you in return." Lalaith sighed again, caressing the curving shaft of the bow, and added, "That you would keep."

"I am sorry I lost your ring." He murmured with a choke in his voice. He was near her, enough for her to feel the heat of him against her back, but he would not touch her.

"_You_ lost it?" Lalaith shook her head softly. "_I_ was the one who would not control my anger, and flung it away." She drew in a ragged breath. "But it was not mine. It was my gift to you. Yours to do with, as you would. You should have been the one to dispose of it, not me."

"I could never have done that." Legolas protested. "I know now, I should not have offered it back to you. I should never have taken it from my finger. Your distress and your anger were entirely justified, after what I had done. It was my fault entirely. I knew it, and so I went to search out where the ring was. I found where it landed, but it was already gone."

"Perhaps one of the little elflings of Lothlorien picked it up and carried it off." Lalaith sighed sadly. "In any case, it is because _I_ behaved so unseemly, that it is gone."

"Do not distress yourself." Legolas protested gently. "Its loss was not your fault. Only mine. And-," he drew closer as if he wanted to touch her, but refrained, and drew back. "And the sight of you is enough of a gift."

"_Is_ it enough?" She asked gently.

Legolas released a long sigh, and said nothing.

Lalaith wondered what expression his face carried right now, but she did not dare to look at him. A moment later, she shuddered and stiffened as she felt the touch of his hands against her hair, but slowly, she relaxed. His fingers began running slowly through it, weaving deep into the soft coolness of her golden tresses.

"You do not fear to touch my hair." She sighed as Legolas reached from behind, and plucked the brush from where it sat beside her, and began to pull it softly through her hair.

"You mean to plait it as before, and I will not see it long, hanging freely about your shoulders again." He murmured close to her ear. "Do you wish for me to stop, my Lady?"

"No. I do not." She whispered softly, feeling the weight of her heart. "What I wish is that you would not call me `Lady'. I wish I could make you believe you were worthy of me, as easily as you did for me the day we pledged our troth in Imladris. I wish you would touch me as you used to. I wish you still wore my ring." She continued, hearing the heaviness in her voice. "I wish I had a reason as I once did, to hold hope close to my heart that we would someday marry, and share together the happiness that we have both dreamed of, for so long."

Legolas said nothing, but offered a soft murmur of agreement through closed lips as he continued to brush her hair. And Lalaith closed her eyes, reverting to a well loved dream, herself draped in a splendid, shimmering wedding gown, Legolas standing before her, no less resplendent in his own robes as they spoke their wedding vows to each other beneath the cool, whispering leaves of the trees of Imladris.

Lalaith's eyes snapped open. Legolas continued to brush her hair, his free hand smoothing through her golden hair as he did.

"You are torturing us both, you know that, do you not?" She asked softly.

"Do you wish for me to stop?" He asked gently. "To leave?"

"No. I never want you to leave." She returned. "But what I wish for, cannot be. So you should go, unless you want to see me cry."

"Then I will go, my Lady." He murmured. He set down the brush, rose quietly then, and turned away, retreating as noiselessly as he had come.

With him gone, Lalaith shivered, suddenly cold, glancing about the small room of her tent. At the foot of her bed, someone had meticulously folded the clothing she had worn from Rivendell, freshly washed, and smelling of sweet herbs. The gash in the back of her sky blue jerkin and her tunic from the wound she had received in Moria, had even been carefully mended. Beside the bed rested her soft, twilight blue boots, and her quiver, sheathed with her knives, and laden with arrows of Lorien, though her bow was conspicuously absent, as it had been since it had been shot from her hand by an orcish arrow in Moria.

She slid from her bed, caught up her quiver by a belt strap, and slid Legolas' bow in where hers had once rested.

" Legolas, why must it be this way?" She murmured softly, running her thumb slowly along the smooth wood of his bow. "Was it as painful for you, when I rejected you in Mirkwood, as it is now, for me? Were you completely bereft of hope, as I am now? And will you someday come to your senses as I did, at last? " Lalaith lifted her eyes as if to look at the sky, though all she could see were the walls and ceiling of her tent.

"Please, bring him back to me." She moaned, her voice pleading. " Let me have him again, else I will go mad with longing! I cannot live like this for all the ages of the world!"

Lalaith drew in a breath, and dropped her quiver back where it had been, and rose again to her feet. A soft white night gown had been folded and rested waiting on her pillow.

Lalaith drew off her soft green gown, folded it upon the table by her bed, and pulled the night dress over her head gratefully, feeling her weariness pulling at her. She drew the coverlet down, and climbed into the soft warmth of her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, willing sleep to claim her.

Legolas choked on a sharp breath as he lay on his back, his fingers laced beneath his head, staring up into the silver branches above him. It was a calm, silver night, like all the nights in Lorien. The great Mallyrn rose silently above him, ageless sentinels of ages before even he had been born. The cloth of the pavilion that sheltered his comrades fluttered softly in a cool, night breeze. His companions were all sleeping, Gimli snoring raucously, as was his way. He drew in another deep breath, and turned his eyes to the steps leading upward toward the silken tent wherein Lalaith lay sleeping. He pictured her in his mind, her hair splayed across her pillow, silver light spilling over her fair face, the delicate rise and fall of her soft breathing.

Legolas released a deep breath and sat up. Trying to sleep tonight would prove futile, he knew. He hopped lightly to his feet, and began to pace restlessly.

_Worthless, unworthy elf. _

Legolas shook his head at the thought that echoed at the back of his mind. The quiet voice that echoed in his thoughts, almost with a life of its own, had been troubling him since the night he had discovered Lalaith was a daughter of the Valar.

_Filthy creature of flesh. Selfish, carnal. Worthless. Unworthy of an undying Vala. You have never wanted her for anything more than to take her to your bed!_

"That is not true!" Legolas protested beneath his breath to the silver darkness about him, not pausing to think how strange it was that he would answer his doubting thoughts aloud. "Yes, I desire her, but that has never been my only thought. Her happiness has always been what matters to me most, more than my own. I truly love her!"

_Stay away from her, if you want her happiness, unworthy elf. She would be miserable with you. The greatness that is in her, would be stifled and crushed by one so worthless as you._

Nearby, Legolas heard a soft rustle, and a mumbled groan. He turned to glance at the source of the noise, and saw Frodo. The poor young hobbit was tossing restlessly about on his pillow as if troubled by dreams as disturbing as Legolas' thoughts were now. Legolas could see the gleam of the One Ring peeking from beneath the hobbit's shirt, winking and glinting at him mockingly.

"She is miserable _now_. Because of me!" Legolas muttered, not realizing he was speaking half to himself, and half to the ring. He dropped his head into his hands and began again to pace before the fountain, its soft, ceaseless clatter lending him small comfort.

_Stubborn, foolish elf, you will never listen to the counsel of others even in your misery, not even to the pleadings of your sweet lover._ Legolas almost imagined cruel laughter echoing in his mind. _Elves, like Men, indeed have their weaknesses to be used against them. Men can be taken by their desire for power. And Elves-, pride is your weakness._

"Weakness?" Legolas ground out to himself, lifting his head from his hands. What were these thoughts crowding his mind? Was he wrong to ignore Aragorn's counsel? Was he wrong to resist the desire to take her into his arms, when he saw Lalaith's sad eyes, swollen with unshed tears?

_Prideful elf, thinking you could keep all your vows to her._ More words tumbled quickly into his mind. _You promised that you would love her for eternity. That you would marry her. That you would stay beside her always, and protect her from evil. One promise you have already broken. You know now you are not worthy to take her as your bride. How can you promise her that all your other vows you will keep? Can you protect her from all the host of Mordor? The orcs of Sauron will ravish and despoiled her maidenhood. Her blood will be wet on their hands, her sweet young body torn and devoured by them_!

A hard, hot breath swelled in Legolas' chest, and his eyes grew fierce and sharp as he tightened his jaw. "Never in life or death will I allow that to happen." He hissed softly. "Nor will Lord Manwe, her father. She is surrounded by the protection of the Valar. She will witness the downfall of Sauron when the One Ring is cast into the fire, and destroyed."

_The ring will return to its master's hand, elf. Your quest is in vain._

With a groan of helplessness, Legolas sank onto the bottommost stone step, his weary head falling into his hands. "It is not vain." He insisted, fighting the thoughts of doubt that leered at him in his mind. "Evil will be defeated."

"Legolas." The voice, sweet and clear as the soft clean laughter of a waterfall came to his ear, and he jerked his head up, looking toward the sound of the voice. "Were you talking to-, someone?"

Lalaith stood above him on the steps, her feet bare, her long white night gown and her unbound hair catching softly in the cool night breeze. The soft silver light of the night seemed to gather around her, casting a silver nimbus about her gown and her hair. And in this light, she appeared as the child of Valar that she truly was. "Well, no matter." She said with a slight shrug, and a slender smile. "I could not sleep." Her tiny smiled faded, and she glanced away. "Am I troubling you by being here?"

A pang of love gripped him then, only to be followed by an agonizing shaft of misery. "Lalaith." His lips murmured, almost against his bidding.

At the sound of her name, she smiled joyfully, and came scampering childishly down the steps to seat herself beside him, beaming hopefully into his eyes.

"Say it again." She demanded eagerly. "Say my name again, Legolas." In the soft silver light, the blush that rose on her fair cheeks was easy to see.

Reaching out tentatively, he caught a lock of stray hair between two of his fingers, and rubbed it softly, feeling the cool silken smoothness of it before he let it drop and rose to his feet. He took several steps away, before turning and facing her.

"I'm sorry, my Lady. But I cannot do that." He ground out, his jaw trembling as he turned his eyes and glanced away.

"But Legolas, you just said-," She pleaded from where she sat on the step, gazing up at him now, her eyes confused and hurt before she bit her lip and glanced away. Legolas bowed his head, clenching his eyes tight against the pain that seared through him.

She sighed sadly, and the sound pressed the salt of guilt into the already aching wounds of his heart. "I am sorry-, my Lord. I was mistaken. I misunderstood." She rose and turned away, lightly catching up the hem of her nightgown as her small bare feet ascended the stone steps.

"My Lady?" He murmured to her back.

She turned her head, studying him with soft sadness in her eyes. "Yes?"

"Do you think our quest is in vain?" He asked in a hollow, pleading voice.

At his query, she turned completely around, surprise and pity etched on her softened features. "Oh, Legolas-," she gulped, " why would you ask such a thing? It is not in vain. We will conquer Sauron's evil." Her eyes grew large, shining in the soft light of the Lorien night. "Forget what we once shared if you must, but do not forget that the powers of the Valar are with us." Slowly she descended the steps, seeming to float as she came, until she stood before him. "With you, and all of our Fellowship, as well as me." She lifted her hand as if to touch his face, but withdrew it quickly, glanced away embarrassed, and dropped it at her side.

Legolas studied her troubled face, wishing he could reach out to her and draw her into his arms, to hold her softness and her warmth against him, and give her his comfort, and strength. But the doubting thoughts that plagued his mind would not allow him to believe he deserved to. But _she_ deserved what comfort he could give her, didn't she?

"Try to sleep." Lalaith whispered, turning her back to him. "Our journey continues tomorrow. We must find what rest we can."

"Promise me you will take your sleep, also." He pleaded.

"I will try." She returned gently, partly turning her head, but not enough to see him. "Goodnight. M-my Lord."

"Goodnight." He whispered softly to her back, watching her glide slowly up the steps, and disappear silently into the shadowed interior of her silken tent. "My-, love." he murmured to the silence around him, and shut his eyes hard as he sank wearily onto the stone steps, and once again buried his face in his hands.


	26. Chapter 25

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 24**

**July 3, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

**Disclaimer: LOTR is the creation of the Great J.R.R. Tolkien.**

If you are enjoying this story, please feel free to check out my own published works on Amazon under my real name, Loralee Evans.

Chapter 24

The sound and smell of clear water came welcome to her ears as Lalaith stood beside her companions, between Legolas and Merry near the banks of the Silverlode, where they would depart Lothlorien. Great silver Mallyrn grew at the water's edge, their roots jutting outward into the water like so many slender fingers, creating natural docks. Three lovely, gracefully carved boats sat between the roots of a near tree, riding the quiet ripples of the stream, waiting patiently, like gentle horses.

The morning was cool, almost cold. The steam of her breath was visible, and Lalaith was grateful for the warm gray cloak draped about her slender shoulders, attached at her throat with a delicate leaf shaped brooch. She remembered Lothirien's smile in spite of worried eyes as her friend fastened the clasp at Lalaith's throat, and stepped back.

"Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people." Celeborn had said, his calm voice weighted and even. "May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes." He had said this, glancing at all the Fellowship, but as his eyes passed over Lalaith, she had seen a look in them that reminded her of her Uncle Elrond's eyes the morning she had left Imladris. There had been fatherly concern for her in them, worry, and even fear, but he would not speak it. He would let her go for the same reasons Elrond had. It was what she had to do. Celeborn's eyes also rested a moment on Legolas, and Lalaith could sense Celeborn's thoughts, that his fears were eased a little, for she would not be alone. Legolas' eyes met Celeborn's and he inclined his head slightly, silently reaffirming the pledge he had made to Elrond, that he would watch over Lalaith.

Remembering this, Lalaith risked a glance sideward at Legolas, and though his eyes were focused forward, he must have sensed her gaze, for he turned toward her as well, and their eyes locked. So many times before in the last several days, he had glanced away when their eyes met, but this time, his eyes did not leave hers. Her heart thumped within her for a brief moment, and she felt a warm shiver trail along her flesh as his knuckles softly brushed hers and, instead of pulling away, remained, touching lightly, but warmly, against her own. And he gazed at her, sadly, pensively, but there was no doubting the emotion that lingered in his eyes.

"_Legolas_." Lalaith murmured, almost inaudibly, but he heard, and the corner of his mouth twitched, slightly, in a vague whisper of a smile.

Below them, down on an edge of shoreline, Lady Galadriel's swan carved boat ground gently ashore. Their eyes, at last, turned from each other to watch her arrival. Celeborn stood waiting near to offer a hand to his wife, helping her as she stepped gracefully out of the boat. The Lady of the Galadhrim dressed in a white gown, and a hooded cloak of shimmering white and silver covering her long, golden hair, lighted nimbly upon the ground, and turned her eyes toward the Fellowship where they stood, awaiting her approach. Her gaze rested on Lalaith as she pushed her hood back, and her eyes dropped to the space between the maiden and Legolas. And when she saw their hands lightly touching, a slim smile curved her lips upward, and her eyes sparkled with reserved delight. Two of her maidens stood nearby holding two cloth wrapped packages and followed silently behind her as Galadriel drew nearer to the Fellowship, coming first, to Legolas.

"My gift for you, Legolas," Galadriel said gently, as she drew a finely carved bow from the hands of one of her maidens, "is a bow of the Galadhrim, worthy of the skill of our woodland kin."

Legolas' face glowed as he took the bow into his own hands, and ran his hands appreciatively along the firm curve of the wood. Lalaith watched as he drew back on the string, sighting down the bow.

"It is strung with Elven hair." Galadriel added, speaking now in the soft flow of Elvish, and with a smile and a glance at Lalaith, she finished, "Lalaith's hair."

Legolas' eyes went from his new bow to Lalaith, and back again, his fingers running lightly along his bowstring with a new appreciation. A smile, foreign to his face for the last several days, brightened his countenance.

"That is what you needed it for." Lalaith murmured, speaking in Elvish as Galadriel had, and the Lady of the Galadhrim smiled, almost impishly, and nodded.

"I knew your own had been lost in Moria." Galadriel explained. "The day you arrived, I had our craftsmen begin on this bow for Legolas. Knowing the nature of Legolas' love for you, I knew he would eventually give you his own bow."

Galadriel smiled as once again Lalaith ventured another glance at Legolas, her heart catching again on a beat at his eyes delved silently into hers.

"This is my gift for you, dear one." Galadriel continued after a long moment, again breaking their eye contact as she handed to Lalaith a small knife in a smooth leather sheath.

As she drew it carefully forth, Lalaith noted that the blade, though well burnished and engraven, was barely longer than her longest finger.

"And these," Galadriel added, "are for both of you." She handed to both Legolas and Lalaith, necklaces on long golden chains. The one she handed to Legolas was smaller, more finely wrought than the one she gave to Lalaith. Golden swirls looped like vines about three small gems, a diamond, sapphire and emerald, wrought together, forming a triangle, of which each gem was a point. The chain Galadriel gave to Lalaith was somewhat thicker, with gems set in the same design as the first necklace, but within the circled gold of a medallion. "For you," she continued, "to give to each other on your wedding day."

As her eyes focused upon the medallion in her hand, Lalaith heard Legolas. "My Lady," he said, speaking softly, his eyes lowered before Galadriel, "the Lady Elerrina is of the blood of-,"

"Valar, yes." Galadriel cut in, her voice infinitely gentle. She sighed demurely, her eyes fixed kindly upon Legolas who slowly raised his face to meet her eyes. "And her name is _Lalaith_ Elerrina. Elerrina by her parents who loved her enough to allow her to remain in Arda," Galadriel paused momentarily, her eyes searching Legolas' face, "and Lalaith by a mortal woman who loved her enough to die for her. Do not dishonor Eolyn's sacrifice by forgetting all that Lalaith is, for she is more than a Vala. Her father and mother would not leave their own child here unless she had a destiny to fulfill. The Valar are not so cruel as that, Legolas."

Legolas' brows knit together and he dropped his eyes, his countenance heavy with troubled guilt. "Do not listen to the doubts that trouble your mind. Sauron would have her be miserable, as he is. Do not allow him that satisfaction." Galadriel put out a hand and gently lifted his chin up, and she smiled kindly. "You deny that you are worthy of her. You have claimed that there is no hope, that you and she can never be one. Yet through all of this, you have not forgotten your love for her, and by so doing, you have foiled Sauron's designs. Thus, there still _is_ hope."

Legolas said nothing to this as he drew in a deep breath and released it noiselessly, but his eyes showed clearly how much he wanted to believe Galadriel.

Galadriel's smiling eyes traveled from Legolas to Lalaith and back again, before she moved wordlessly on to Merry and Pippin who had been watching the three Elves with great interest, though they had not understood anything, after Galadriel's first words.

"These are the daggers of the Noldorin." Galadriel said, now once again speaking the Common Tongue, that the Hobbits might understand as she placed two small daggers into the Hobbit's hands. "They have already seen service in war." Merry drew the blade of his own from its sheath, admiring it as a look of awe came upon his face. Pippin glanced from his own new dagger up into Galadriel's gentle eyes. "Do not fear, young Peregrin Took." Galadriel continued kindly. "You will find your courage."

Galadriel gave the youngest hobbit one last smile before she stepped away, coming next to Sam. But Lalaith's attention was quickly drawn away by a soft sound from Legolas.

She turned to him, and saw him striding away, into the shadows of the trees.

With a last glance at Galadriel who nodded to her with a soft smile, Lalaith turned and followed as he moved silently away from the banks of the stream. She continued to follow him on into the soft shadows of the trees, onward as the shadows deepened, until the sight of the stream through the trees was lost to them.

She stopped and stood silently beneath the quiet stillness of the Mallyrn as Legolas finally halted, leaned his forearm heavily against a tree, and studied the leaf littered ground intently.

"I want to believe Lady Galadriel." Legolas muttered at last, to himself.

There was sorrow in Legolas' voice. Lalaith bit her lip hard, and drew ever closer. As she edged closer to him, to Lalaith's utter astonishment, Legolas dropped to his knees, and buried his face in his hands. She watched all this in silence, bewildered that Legolas would be like this, powerless, miserable, her Legolas, so stalwart and unafraid, the one she had always depended upon for strength.

"Oh, Lalaith." He muttered through his hands, choking on the words. "Lalaith. Why did I ever profess my love for you, and make you hope, only to cause this pain for you?"

"Legolas." Lalaith answered, her voice soft beneath the quiet of the trees.

At the sound of her voice, he lifted his head, and turned to glance at her. His handsome, well loved face was written with pain and sorrow.

"I loved you long before you ever confessed your love for me." Lalaith murmured, snatching absently at a low hanging branch and stepping closer, her heart breaking at his unhappiness. "It was my choice. And I love you still. Willingly. With all of my heart, regretting nothing, even if you cannot, for now, see the hope that Lady Galadriel spoke of."

Legolas released a deep breath, and rose slowly to his feet. "Why did you follow me?" He asked gently, turning to her.

"Oh, Legolas." Lalaith sighed. "You know why. I love you. I am concerned about you." Lalaith drew even closer, close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to.

Legolas' blue eyes, once so warm and soft when they rested on her, glanced sadly away.

Tentatively, Lalaith reached a hand out, hesitating slightly as Legolas flinched, but still her hand continued to extend until she touched a portion of his golden hair where it rested on his heaving chest, lifted it, and held it lightly in her fingers.

"I do not know what thoughts possess your mind, why you feel you must do as you are doing." Lalaith breathed almost to herself. "But I do know that I love you. I have all my life. I loved you from the first moment I saw you, even though I was only a baby. You stopped my crying. You stopped my pain. How I wish I could do the same for you now."

"I was not born as you were. You were not born as I was." Legolas muttered, and shook his head. "The realities of who we are cannot be changed."

_Oh, Elbereth. Mother!_ Lalaith cried in her mind, hoping to hear her mother's voice once again, as she had the first night she woke in Lothlorien, upon the talan. _What must I do? Legolas is not himself! I know he does not want to be this way, but something will not let him be otherwise. Help me know what I should do._

No words came to her mind, and she sighed inwardly.

"Legolas, do you remember the night before we left Imladris?" She asked suddenly, not sure why she had asked what she had.

"Yes." He murmured heavily. "I remember every kiss you have ever given me as clearly as if it happened only moments ago."

"Do you remember what we said?" She asked pleadingly.

Legolas answered slowly. "I told you I was afraid for you. That I wished you were not going on the Quest with the rest of us."

"And I told you that I was afraid for _you_." Lalaith continued. "But I also told you that the Valar were with us. That Evil was not the only power in the world." She drew close, closing the distance between them to mere inches. The air between them seemed to shimmer with charged emotion, and though Legolas drew in a quick breath and stiffened, he did not move back. "I told you that Good is stronger than Evil. And that _Love_ is much stronger." Lalaith sighed brokenly. "Do you remember?"

"Yes." He answered softly. "I remember it all."

She could feel Legolas' warm breath against her face, and knew he was looking down at her. Praying silently with all her heart that Legolas would not pull away, she let drop his hair against his chest once again, and gently placed her hand against his warm, smooth face. He flinched, but did not pull back.

"The Valar have not forgotten us." She whispered.

She rose up lightly on her toes, and with lowered eyes, gently kissed his stiffened jaw, her lips lingering hungrily against the delicious warmth of his skin and murmured, "Nor would they give us hope only to snatch it away."

Legolas did not pull away, but neither did he speak or respond to her touch. After a long moment, Lalaith sighed, and pulled back, still with lowered eyes, and without further words, she turned and moved away from him, making her way back to the banks of the stream.

Legolas watched Lalaith go, his head swimming, feeling as if he were immersed in an ocean of tumultuous light. When she had touched his face, and then when she had so lightly kissed him, her soft body almost brushing his-, he had almost forgotten such rapture existed. It had only been his utter shock that she would dare to do such a thing, after so many days of distance between them, that had kept him from responding.

And was it her soothing touch alone that had suddenly extinguished the angry, echoing voice that had been resounding within the distant recesses of his mind? However it had been accomplished, the touch of her hand against his face had been as cooling rain washing away the remnants of a smoldering, angry fire. The voice was gone. The doubts it had hissed and whispered at him for so many days, were gone.

Lalaith had disappeared with that graceful, fluid way of moving that she possessed, flitting between the trees as Legolas had stood there, dumbfounded, unable to put his thoughts into words, and now she was gone. He longed, more than anything now, to go after her, to take her into his arms and hold her again, but it had been so many days. How would she respond? Perhaps falling to his knees before her, and pleading for her to take him back, to forgive him for his foolish blindness would be more appropriate.

"Varda, Elbereth, what am I to do?" Legolas moaned, suddenly as nervous as he had been, the night he had first professed his love for Lalaith. He glanced upward, into the thickness of the branches of the Mallyrn, imagining the sky, bright and clear above the tops of the trees. "What am I to do?" He whispered again. "Please, answer me."

Silence reigned about him. A sudden breath filled Legolas' chest at the sudden thrill of freedom this new silence brought. And then a voice, unlike the angry, spiteful voice that had tortured his mind before, came floating gently into his mind, softly, like the quiet fall of leaves to the forest floor. And it seemed to him now, as if the voice had been there for days trying to reach him, but he had not been able to hear it over the angry hiss of the other dark voice. It was soft and kind, a woman's voice, gentle, yet strong at the same time, and Legolas straightened, his back rigid in surprise, for it sounded much like Lalaith's soothing, well loved voice.

"_We know of thee, dear Legolas, Son of Iluvatar's Firstborn. We know of thy pain, and our daughter's pain even before thou speakest of it, we know._" It was Elbereth's voice, he knew, instinctively. It was calm, even happy. "_We can see and hear thee. And we will never cease to watch over and love thee. Do not fear, dear lover of our child. In the end, all will come about as it should_."

"But what must I do?" Legolas pleaded aloud, glancing about, half expecting to see someone. "If I rush after her like some fool and sweep her back into my arms as if there had never been a rift between us, I could cause her such a shock, that she might very well strike me." He finished, muttering, "Though surely I would deserve it."

A light, kindly laugh echoed again in his mind, reminding him of Lalaith's gentle laughter, soothing, like the splash of water falling over smooth stones. "_Follow thy heart, dear Legolas, noble son of the Eldar. Listen to thyself, and thou wilt know what to do to regain her. She loves thee. It will take little effort if thou wilt simply act from thy heart. Trust thyself. Heed the threats of Sauron's Ring no longer. It speaks only lies and fear. It spreads hatred, and needless guilt. Never doubt again that thou art worthy of her. Thou wast destined to love her before her birth. Even before thine. That is why she was born in the image of one of the Firstborn. That is why Iluvatar willed that she stay in Arda. Why thou wast the first of the Eldar ever to see her. Thou wast born for her, Legolas, and she for thee._"

A wind brushed through the trees, and all was silent.

By the time Lalaith returned to the misty banks of the Silverlode, the last of the gifts of Galadriel had been given, and Lalaith's companions as well as the Lorien Elves were busily loading the three boats for their continued journey.

Along with packages of other supplies, Lalaith recognized bundles of lembas, wrapped in leaves, and a weak smile came to her lips as she noted that one of the leaf wrapped packages had already been tampered with. Pippin was perched on the edge of a Mallorn root, his feet hanging over the edge, down into one of the boats, while Merry sat beside him in the prow of the boat. Crumbs still clung to the sides of their mouths, betraying them as the culprits. Lalaith wondered how many they'd eaten, and hoped they knew not to eat too much, but from a look of concern and discomfort that was growing on Pippin's face, she feared that he may have already eaten too many.

In spite of his obvious distress, Pippin smiled brightly in welcome as she approached, and nudged Merry who looked up, noticed her, and smiled as well, offering her a slight wave. Frodo sat some distance away from them, upon a low root, lost in his own private thoughts, seeming to be unaware of the presence of others.

"Auh, here she is!" Gimli called in a friendly tone. He, Sam and Boromir, had been helping load the boats, but as he noticed her, he left his task and came forward, gallantly sweeping one of her hands into his, and lightly kissed her knuckles with his bearded lips.

Lalaith smiled gratefully, knowing it was the Dwarf's way of trying to cheer her.

Boromir had also looked up at her approach, and his eyes met her own over the Dwarf's bowed head as Gimli released her hand, and gallantly bowed himself away, going back to his previous undertaking. She and Boromir exchanged a brief, but potent glance before he drew in a deep breath that swelled in his chest, and turned away, continuing with the task of loading the boats, his brow furrowing with confused, unreadable emotions.

Lalaith glanced away, biting her lip against the clutching fear that clenched her heart whenever Boromir looked at her like that. And as she did, her eyes rested on Aragorn, who stood some distance away, speaking with Galadriel, and though their voices were hushed, it took little thought to guess that they were speaking of Arwen, and her choice to love a mortal. Lalaith saw Galadriel touch lightly, the necklace of the Evenstar that Arwen had gifted to Aragorn where it hung about his neck.

Lalaith glanced down at her own gifts, the small knife from Galadriel, and the medallion with the three gems set within its golden surface. There was nothing more to do with it now, but to place it around her neck. This she did, her fingers deftly fasting the golden links behind her neck, beneath the thick weight of her braid, before she let it drop down beneath the cloth of her tunic, the metal cool against her skin. And then, pausing to tuck the sheathed knife into her boot, for that is where she guessed it belonged, she started toward the dwindling pile of supplies to offer her part in loading the boats.

She had just lifted a bundle of lembas, when a figure out of the corner of her eye, made her glance up sharply. Legolas had returned. He seemed to have arrived without her noticing, for he was coming from the direction of the boats, as if he had already taken a load and was returning for more. His gaze was fixed shyly on her, his eyes endearing in their timidity. Snatching up two of the bundles himself, he offered her a boyish, bashful grin before he started back for the boats, and Lalaith found herself following him.

Legolas set his burden down on the root beside Pippin, before he hopped nimbly down into the empty boat nestled beside the one in which Pippin and Merry sat, his light feet barely creating a ripple beneath it, before he caught up the packages of lembas and deposited them in the bottom of the boat. Then lifting his head, he glanced up again at Lalaith who had come behind. Offered her a timid grin that seemed to her as warm as sunlight piercing the cold shadow of a cloud, he reached out for her own burden, and she surrendered it willingly into his capable hands before she turned and took several steps away, not sure of what to think about his behavior, but unable to deny the shaft of hope that was beginning to fill the shadows of her heart with light.

"Is all well, Pippin?" He asked the young hobbit as he leaped lightly out of the boat again.

"Oh, yes." Pippin grinned readily where he sat beside Merry, even though Lalaith as she turned, could see one hand clutching tightly to his stomach.

"Pippin isn't feeling well?" Lalaith murmured in Elvish as Legolas drew even with her as if to return to his task, but her question stopped him.

"I overheard them a moment ago. I told them how only one bite could fill a man's stomach, but I fear I was too late with the warning." Legolas grinned. "Pippin ate four."

"Little Pippin ate _four_ lembas?" Lalaith whispered.

"Four." Legolas repeated.

"Oh." Lalaith moaned in pity. "Poor little thing. He won't be eating any more for a few days, at least."

"Or for Pippin, a few hours." Legolas returned, and chuckled softly.

At the sound, Lalaith beamed, and clasped Legolas' arm gently, before she suddenly realized what she was doing, and moved to pull away.

"Oh, forgive me, I-," her hasty stammered apology was cut off when Legolas reached over with his other hand, and covered hers where it rested upon his arm, preventing her from pulling away.

"You will come with me in the same boat, will you not?" He asked, as a playful smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Gimli is none to pleased with me. He could very well tip me over the side if I have no one to protect me."

"What do you have to fear?" Responded Lalaith, delighted with the touch of his warm fingers upon her own, and his shy, teasing banter. "You are not unskilled at swimming."

"Nevertheless, I do not wish for a swim, today." His eyes grew pleading, and Lalaith's heart almost stopped, so brimming it was now, with hope. "Will you come with me?"

Lalaith drew in a quick but silent gasp before she responded. "I will." She sighed, and smiled, hoping her eyes would not fill with the childish tears that threatened to spill into them. "If you say my name again."

Legolas' eyes seemed to darken, and the warm look within them deepened as he softly murmured, "_Lalaithamin._"

"Then yes." Lalaith answered softly in return. "I will come with you."

Nearer to the banks, Gimli and Boromir had paused in their work, watching the whispered exchange between the two Elves. Because Lalaith and Legolas had spoken in Elvish, neither Dwarf nor Man understood their words, but the gentle looks exchanged between the two, and the touch of Legolas' hand upon Lalaith's, spoke clearly enough.

Gimli watched it all with an ever widening grin beneath his thick, reddish brown beard before he turned away with a small chuckle, mumbling to Boromir beside him, "Pah. Finally the idiot's coming back to his senses. Any more of that other nonsense, and I'd a' beaten the stupidity out of his thick skull with one of these ores."

But Boromir said nothing. He only watched them with a mute look. At last he turned away, a smile, for Lalaith's sake, twitching at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were sad, deep and sad, and bereft of any hope for himself.


	27. Chapter 26

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 25**

**July 11, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

**Disclaimer: LOTR is the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien.**

_recap: The Fellowship is just about to leave Lothlorien. Legolas and Lalaith are starting to make up._

Chapter 25

The One Ring lay in the black darkness of its thoughts, musing over its sudden loss. It could sense its hold on the male elf had suddenly been severed, by what, it knew not. Not that its hold had ever been a strong one, even when the elf had listened to its whisperings. The ring sighed within itself. It could never have truly possessed the elf's mind, anyway. There was a bond between the elf and the young, golden Vala that was too strong to rend. It was a link forged of something stronger than the One Ring could ever hope to fully understand. Their bond, the One Ring could only guess, was much like the union between itself and its master. But yet, so different, that the ring was left thoughtless, steeped in its unanswered frustrations.

Its one obsession was to return to its master's hand. It existed for no other purpose. True, it occasionally amused itself with the destruction of the minds of those to whom it came into possession, but its first thought was bent on nothing but becoming one again with its master, of gaining back the power it had once wielded, to bask in the intoxicating misery of the Men and Elves it had once almost dominated. If that one hope proved impossible, the One Ring would have no reason to exist, for it lived for no other purpose but to destroy and to drink in the chaos and misery it created, like a spider drinking the blood of its prey. And thus, it had believed that if it could convince these filthy, propagating beings that Eru seemed so foolishly fond of, that the physical bonding which they so longed for could never be, then the bond woven between their hearts would soon cease. And they would wither into nonexistence with the purposelessness of their lives. But this had not happened. If anything, that incomprehensible joining between their hearts had only grown stronger. And now the link from the ring to the mind of the elf was entirely destroyed. In fruitless desperation it had reached out, trying to snare the elf's mind again, but if he heard, he no longer heeded the ring's promptings.

Surely, the ring mused within its darkness, it was because of the golden Vala maiden.

The Ring writhed within itself, steeped in its hatred for the maiden who was a Vala, and yet an elf also, whose very presence created an agony within the Ring. Though the Ring lived to hate all who came near it, and especially those whose fate became to bear it, its hatred of this golden presence was especially bitter. Her mind could not be possessed.

All that the One Ring could hope to do was to breathe to her the lies its master wanted her to believe. It could never truly possess her thoughts as it had the sniveling little river hobbit, or the Man who had first cut it so cruelly from its master's hand. It could not reach inside her mind as it could the young Manling's whose thoughts the ring could sense now. And even he, the One Ring glowered to itself, was not yet fully possessed. The Man's heart and his intentions were of another sort than what the ring desired, and his mind was keener than the little river hobbit's mind had been. The ring had but to glimmer at the sniveling little creature, to wink and smile, and the mind of the once peaceful river hobbit was lost to it. Within moments, the ring had convinced the pathetic creature to kill for the possession of it, and once having done that, the little river hobbit was lost to the ring. The other, the Man who had first severed the ring's tie to its master had been only slightly more difficult to win over. But in the end, the One Ring had again been successful. It could be so again with this Manling, but there was something in his heart that was difficult to completely possess. The ring raged within its thoughts that perhaps a part of this filthy Manling's difficulty was that he too, felt an attachment to the young Vala, similar to what the elf felt. This attachment could have proven useful, had the Manling been like so many of the other fleshly creatures the ring had sensed within its long life; orcs, goblins, its own master, and even some Men and Elves, who lived for no others but themselves, taking what they wanted when they wanted it, giving no thought to the desires of others. If only the Manling was like them, and wanted the fair maiden for his own selfish purposes, that would be something the ring could use.

But the foolish baby was too noble for that. It would be terribly delightful, the One Ring mused to itself within the dark shadows of its thoughts, if it could find a way to have the Manling and the elf destroy each other over the golden maiden. What tremendous misery that would create! But such was not to be. Every time the ring proposed such a thought to the Manling's mind, the suggestion would be rejected, forcefully. The Manling would not succumb to such pressures. And the ring knew not to press the thought, else it might lose its hold on the Manling forever. But how could such a thing be? Didn't the Manling want the maiden for himself? The ring could sense that he did. So why could the ring not use that desire to drive a wedge between him and the others who seemed bent on its destruction?

Whatever the reason, it was beyond the ring's understanding. The One Ring sighed within its darkness. It could do only what it could with the foolish youngling. He was of the race of Men. He craved power. The ring, so far, was successful in easily convincing him of his own strength, that he could wield the ring for the noble purposes which as yet, held greater sway in his mind than the dark thoughts the ring wished upon him. And above all, the One Ring knew, it must keep the Manling believing that the thoughts roiling in his mind were his own. Were he ever to realize that the thoughts were put there by the ring, and not of his own making, it would surely lose him, as it had the elf.

The One Ring settled in itself, content, for the moment, with its hold though not as strong as it wished, upon the Manling's mind.

It listened quietly to the steady murmur of the heart of its current carrier, a hobbit, a creature much like its previous bearer, but the ring was discontent with him, for the soul of this being was frustratingly more sturdy than the first little creature it had possessed, whose presence it sensed now, ever near, but still distant.

The ring laughed within its darkness, knowing how the first sniveling ruined thing still wanted it so desperately, but he would never get it back. The ring so enjoyed how it had created such a need in the filthy little creature, so that his every thought was connected to the ring, when the ring, for its own purposes had never really wanted the worthless fool for anything but his mind to play with, for the five hundred years it had allowed itself to be with him. It had partly wished the dirty little thing had been killed by some other creature, a Man or an Elf disgusted by his twisted form, or perhaps by an orc, or by some hungry beast, for the ring sensed something elusive and ominous in the continued existence of its old plaything. But the ruined little river hobbit still lived. And the slight fear his continued life brought to the ring was only as a distant memory of something that might, or might not happen in the future. So the ring did not worry, and left its thoughts and its intentions focused on the Manling, hoping that with time, it could fully possess him, and ruin his mind, turning him to darkness.

Boromir, holding a wrapped bundle of extra hobbit sized tunics, bowed his head, aware of the teasing banter, and the soft looks, warm with promise that the two Elves were exchanging as the last of the supplies gifted to them by the Lorien Elves were loaded into the boats. True, they were not enveloped in each other's arms; they were barely touching as yet, but that would come with time. Legolas, clearly, had overcome his confusion over Lalaith being the daughter of Valar, and now he wanted her back.

Boromir smiled weakly to himself with the renewed hope of their happiness. Lalaith was now smiling again, and it was not forced or pretend. She was happy, and that was, after all, what Boromir had wanted for her these last several days. But with that, came the renewed reminder that he was not the one who held her heart, but Legolas. A short flame of jealousy for Legolas' blessed fortune flared within Boromir's heart as it often did, but he crushed it back. She possessed her greatest happiness in her knowledge of Legolas' love for her. Such was the way it should be, he knew.

His hand went to his side, and he opened a small pouch attached to his new belt, the golden belt the Lady of the Galadhrim had gifted to him, and felt the solitary object sheltered within. Boromir ran his finger carefully around the circle, tracing the delicate twists winding about the single jewel set within the cool metal. It was his now. Legolas had made it clear he no longer wanted it, and Lalaith had not wished to take it back. So it was theirs no longer. It was Boromir's, the one thing from Lalaith that was his.

He glanced up, watching Lalaith's slim, narrow back as she said her farewells to Haldir, the March Warden who seemed less forbidding and arrogant now than he had at their first meeting. Perhaps it had something to do with the maiden Lothirien beside him, her hand sheltered within his own. Lalaith embraced Lothirien as well, and the friends exchanged low spoken words before Lalaith turned away toward the Lady of the Galadhrim who approached her. Galadriel's eyes were bright as she too embraced the maiden in farewell. The two were speaking softly, and Boromir could not hear their words, but they would be speaking in Elvish, so he would not understand anyway. As they spoke, Legolas approached the two, his new bow in hand, his fingers trailing tenderly along the bowstring, and the women greeted him, smiling. As Lalaith turned her head to welcome her love, Boromir saw the light bright in her soft face, and he imagined for a moment, Lalaith looking at him like that.

_Lalaith_. Her name resounded in his head. He could not deny that he loved her. Perhaps his love was not as great as that which Legolas felt for her, for Boromir had not the gift of years, nor the true, unfaltering heart of an Elf. And he certainly did not deserve her as Legolas did. But still, he loved her. He drew in a long breath, and closed his eyes for a few delicious moments, remembering those few seconds when she had allowed him to hold her. So warm she had been, so small and seemingly frail, though he knew she wasn't. And he imagined her looking up at him, her face free of tears, and her eyes shining for him alone, content in the comfort of his embrace. And he could almost feel her small slender arms slip about his neck, her soft warm mouth beneath his own as he lowered his head and kissed her, exulting in the joy of her returned kiss.

Boromir jerked himself away from the thought, knowing he was only torturing himself to imagine it. She never would look at him as she looked at Legolas. The two Elves were born to love each other. And Boromir-, Boromir was only in the way in his affection for Lalaith. Boromir shook his head and turned abruptly away, colliding suddenly with Pippin who was coming from behind, and almost spilled the poor Hobbit over the sharp ledge of the bank, and into the water below.

"Oi, Boromir, watch it!" Merry shrieked, still seated in the boat behind him as Pippin's arms flailed helplessly.

Boromir clapped a hand onto the shoulder of the dangerously tipping Hobbit and righted him. "Forgive me, Pippin. I'm sorry." He muttered penitently. "Are you all right?"

"Uh," Pippin muttered. "I'm fine." The poor little hobbit's face was a positive shade of green, as he waved off Boromir's apology, and darted for the privacy of the woods, bent nearly double, his hand clutching his stomach.

"Pah, Boromir, watch yourself." Muttered Gimli as the Dwarf strode past burdened with several leaf wrapped bundles of lembas. "You damaged Pippin."

"I'm sorry." Boromir mutter again.

"It's not his fault." Merry chirped in Boromir's defense from his place in the boat. "Pip was already like that. He's been getting greener and greener. He ate four of those lembas. I think he's finally found something his stomach can't take too much of."

Gimli placed his fists on his stout hips. "Oh ho! Indeed?" He chuckled back, answered by Merry's enthusiastic nod.

But Boromir hardly heard the exchange between Dwarf and Hobbit. He glanced up to see many eyes, most of them deep, penetrating elven eyes, now focused on him. Lalaith was one of those watching him, and her eyes seemed suddenly distant, even frightened, almost, as his eyes met her own. The expressions of her face when she looked at him, compared to the way she looked at Legolas, were as night and day.

What about him frightened her so? He wondered helplessly, as he turned awkwardly away. Did she see something dark in him, that even he could not see? The memory of their first morning in Lorien still stung, even now. He had begged her to tell him the nature of the trouble between herself and Legolas. He had been willing to listen. But she had refused, gently, as was her way, but still, she had refused. She had left him kneeling there, alone. But yet without their even requesting it, she had confessed all to Gimli and the Hobbits.

Worse than her seeing something dark in him, was the possibility that she feared him because she had somehow guessed his feelings. He groaned inwardly at that possibility, as he wearily dropped his bundle down into one of the boats. The idea made his heart cringe. Her knowing of his feelings could do no one any good. She should never know, though he could not deny them to himself. He glanced back at Lalaith to see her eyes turned once again to the Lady of the Galadhrim as she and Legolas conversed softly with Galadriel.

Aragorn stood some distance away with Celeborn, their conversation of an entirely different sort than the one in which Lalaith was engaged, for the Lord of Lorien was speaking in low, tense tones to the human, the expressions of both, urgent and insistent, and it required little imagination for Boromir to guess why they would appear so concerned, especially when Celeborn held out his hands, cradling within them, a long sheathed knife, which he offered into Aragorn's hands. The danger, from which they had enjoyed a long respite, was soon to resume. And strangely enough, it brought a measure of comfort to Boromir. This was what he understood best. This was what brought meaning to his life, for this was the one way in which he knew he could serve Lalaith.

"We will miss you, Lalaith." Lothirien sighed, giving one last squeeze to her friend as she and Haldir stepped back, studying Lalaith's face with unanswered questions in their eyes.

"And I you." Lalaith smiled, glancing between her two dear friends. "I am sorry I will not be here when you are married."

"We understand." Haldir assured her gently.

"This is what you must do." Lothirien murmured, indicating toward the boats where they waited on the gentle tide of the Silverlode.

Lalaith smiled, and blinked back more tears that threatened to come to her eyes. She could see in their eyes the questions she still had not answered. And though they wondered still, they had not pressed her to reveal anything, and she loved them for it.

"Lalaith." Galadriel's soft voice came from behind, and Lalaith turned at the voice.

Haldir and Lothirien, at this, stepped deferentially back as the Lady of Lorien approached.

"Grandmother." Lalaith said with a smile as Galadriel stepped forward and embraced her. "I will miss you terribly."

"And I you, dear one." Galadriel returned, drawing back and pressing her soft hand against Lalaith's cheek. "But my heart is warm with hope, for we will see each other again, one day."

"Shall we?" Lalaith pleaded hopefully.

Galadriel smiled, and laughed lightly. "Oh, my dear one. The blessings of the Valar go with you. If you stay true to your course, you will succeed. Though Legolas has endured much more than he ever expected, his love for you has not waned. He is ever true to you, Lalaith."

"He is." Lalaith agreed, her face once again growing into a smile as she sensed her love's approach, and turned, her face warm with welcome as Legolas approached her and Galadriel, his bow in one hand, while the fingers of the other ran lightly along the bow's string.

"Prince Legolas." Galadriel smiled warmly in welcome.

"My Lady." Legolas returned with a slight bow.

Lalaith smiled, grateful that the term was not used on her.

Through the open neck of his tunic, Lalaith's eyes caught on the glint of the necklace Galadriel had given him for her. His eyes caught hers, and smiled into them.

The blue and the green of the sapphire and emerald twisted within the glimmering vines of gold, shimmered and blended, while the diamond cast a rainbow of glowing colors from its many polished facets.

"Grandmother," Lalaith asked, turning once again to Galadriel, and drawing the golden medallion from beneath the cloth of her tunic to examine it, shaped in its design after the pattern of the necklace Legolas wore, someday meant for her. "I wonder why it is that you chose these three jewels. They must mean something?"

Galadriel smiled wisely, and lowered her eyes a moment, before she lifted them, shining, to gaze on Lalaith. "I had them made for the both of you, long ago. Long before you were fully grown, my dear one, for I knew what would eventually come of what was then, only friendship." She smiled playfully. "It was not through my Mirror that I saw this, but with my own eyes, for what was to be, was clear to many then, though perhaps you did not see it yourselves."

Galadriel smiled again as Legolas and Lalaith traded a glance, their eyes dancing with light as they smiled to each other.

"The sapphire represents Imladris, where you were raised and loved, and grew to womanhood." Galadriel continued as their eyes turned back to hers. "And the emerald represents Greenwood the Great. Your home, Legolas." Galadriel reached out, and lifted the medallion Lalaith wore, lightly in two fingers, tracing over the jewels softly with her thumb. "And the diamond-, when it was formed, I meant for it to represent Lothlorien.

For Lalaith has spent many years of her life here, and she is well known and well loved here, as in Imladris. But now-," Galadriel smiled again, and the light was bright in her ageless eyes. "Now, I believe it stands for the Blessed Realm. For the ever white peak of Oiolosse. For that is where Lalaith was born."

Galadriel turned to Legolas and gazed long into the young Elf's eyes. "Do you see how the beauty of each jewel blends to the others, and complements them? They are as one, though each adds its own beauty. As you are one, your hearts and your souls intertwined and inseparable."

"Yes, my Lady." Legolas agreed softly. His eyes met Lalaith's and his glance was warm.

The Lady of Lorien sighed sympathetically as she reached for, and took their hands into her own. "Remember that, in the difficulties you have yet to face. Those that you face together, and those that you will face," Galadriel sighed and finished slowly, "apart."

A sudden commotion, unexpected in the quiet of the cool morning, brought Lalaith's head around. Boromir, several steps away, near the waiting boats, had unwittingly bumped Pippin, who had climbed out of his boat, and now seemed near to toppling over the jutting bank, and into the river below. But fortunately for the hobbit, Boromir snatched his shoulder and righted him on time. Pippin, his little face shaded green and clearly in torment, perhaps from the too many lembas he had eaten, dashed away, and into the privacy of the forest. Lalaith's eyes met Boromir's now, and she saw, once again, the sad look of hopelessness that filled his eyes. After a moment, Boromir turned abruptly away, and Lalaith returned her gaze to Galadriel.

"_Apart_?" Lalaith queried softly.

Galadriel smiled gently upon Legolas, as if she had not heard Lalaith's soft whisper.

"Watch over my grandchild." She said, a pleading tone in her voice. "Keep her in your heart, and in your thoughts and dreams."

"I will, my Lady." Legolas answered in a tone of one making a solemn promise. "Though," he grinned, "you need not ask me, for me to dream of her."

Galadriel smiled gently as Lalaith flushed pink and glanced downward. Gently she squeezed their hands, still within her own. "The blessings of the Valar will go with you, my dear ones."

She glanced away, toward her husband Celeborn who was coming now toward them, with Aragorn at his side. Aragorn's eyes were focused thoughtfully on a sheathed knife, with a thick curving blade that he held within his hands.

With a sigh that spoke of reluctance, Galadriel glanced back at the two young Elves. "It is time." She murmured, and released their hands.

Pippin had once again emerged from the trees, wiping a sleeve slowly across his mouth as he trotted toward the boat Merry was still seated in. He pounced down into the boat, then sat quickly, as his movement made the vessel rock upon the water.

Sam was more careful in getting into his own boat, though the boat still rocked as he got in, and the little hobbit had to grasp the boat's sides until it was once again resting quietly upon the waves of the river.

Legolas was the first in the boat Lalaith was to share with him and Gimli, and as the Dwarf drew close, Legolas offered him a grin and a friendly arm. Gimli, clearly, harbored no more ill feelings for the Elf, for the Dwarf returned Legolas' grin, and offered him a friendly thump to his arm as he hopped down into the boat, which Legolas returned good naturedly.

But when Lalaith drew near, and glanced down into Legolas' eyes, his smile softened, and he reached both hands up, clasping her with infinite gentleness by the waist. Lalaith, more than willingly, rested her hands lightly upon his firm shoulders as he lifted her slowly down into the boat beside him. Aside from the touch of his hands at her waist, and hers upon his shoulders, they touched not at all. But there was something soft and warm that seemed to pulse in the air between them as her feet came lightly to rest upon the wooden bottom of the boat.

"Thank you, Legolas." She whispered.

"It was my pleasure, Lalaith." Legolas breathed, his warm blue eyes searching hers deeply, sparkling with an inner fire.

"Ack, don't mind _me_! I'll not get in the way of anything!" Gimli muttered loudly from behind them. But there was a rosy glow on his face, and his bearded lips curled upward in a smile of contented approval.

Glancing around, Lalaith saw similar expressions of the other faces of the Fellowship. Aragorn had a lopsided grin on his rugged, bearded face where he sat with an oar across his lap, watching the two Elves, and all the Hobbits had similar expressions. Pippin seemed to have fully recovered from his past ordeal, for his face had returned to its healthy, cheery color, and he was grinning immensely and trading elbow nudges with Merry as he watched the Elves. But Boromir-,

Lalaith sighed, and glanced downward, letting her hands slip slowly away from Legolas' shoulders. Boromir's face was bent downward focused upon the oar in his large sturdy hands, and his eyes, as always, were heavy with sadness. Lalaith turned and sat quietly as she took up the paddle meant for her. Gimli settled himself behind her, and Legolas at the stern, took up the second oar, and as one, four paddles dipped into the water, propelling the Fellowship away from the bank, and into the current of the stream.

Lalaith glanced back toward the shore as she rowed, to see Galadriel watching them. The wise deep eyes of the Lady of Lorien seemed to take in each of the Fellowship in one glance.

_Do not fear the future, dear one._ Lalaith heard Galadriel's thoughts echoing in her mind as the current caught them, carrying them ever more swiftly away from the golden Mallyrn, and from Galadriel's sight. _For love goes with you wherever you are. And with love, though there will be grief also, there is no need to be afraid._


	28. Chapter 27

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 26**

**July 22, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

_recap: The Fellowship has just left Lothlorien, and is in the process of traveling down the Anduin._

Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: LOTR is the creation of the great J.R.R. Tolkien.**

"I have taken my worst wound at this parting."

Lalaith glanced over her shoulder at Gimli who had spoken in melancholy tones.

"Having looked my last upon that which is fairest." He finished with heavy wistfulness.

The stream upon which they rode had not even joined the Anduin yet, but Gimli already seemed sad. He sat behind her, hunched and dejected, his bearded face gazing out at the water with a thoughtful look to his eyes.

"Is it the Lady Galadriel you speak of, Gimli?" Lalaith asked.

"It is." Gimli sighed wistfully. "From henceforth, I will call nothing fair unless it be the Lady's gift to me."

"What was her gift?" Legolas asked from behind Gimli.

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head." Gimli sighed thoughtfully. "She gave me three. Now, I will see nothing else as beautiful, since I have parted Lorien."

"And what am I, then?" Lalaith asked, pretending hurt.

"Auh," Gimli paused, and Lalaith could see a blush beginning beneath the red brown of his beard, "You're eh, spoken for."

Lalaith lifted her eyes, seeing Legolas' grinning face over the top of Gimli's head. "And what of Lord Celeborn?" She asked playfully, though she feigned a demanding tone.

"Euh," this time, Gimli's pause was longer, and more awkward than his last. "He is-, not here."

"Then you would be praising Lalaith as highly as Lady Galadriel, were I absent?"

Legolas asked, flashing Lalaith a warm glance over the dwarf's head.

"I would, perhaps." Gimli admitted.

"And what would you say of her, were I not present?" Legolas queried.

"Auh," sighed Gimli, with a shy grin, and a friendly wink at Lalaith. "I would say that she is almost as beautiful as Galadriel. And that the two are fairer than all other women, who have ever been, or ever will be."

Sunlight fairly danced out of Legolas' eyes as his glance once again met hers over the dwarf's head. "You need not fear any jealous reprimand from me, my friend." He said gently, his words spoken to Gimli, though his eyes did not leave Lalaith's. "I cannot fault your speaking the truth, with but one flaw. For the Lady Lalaith far outshines the Lady Galadriel."

At Legolas' words, Gimli smirked, and glanced over his shoulder at the elf, noticing the expression his face carried as Legolas tenderly studied Lalaith's lightly flushing features. Gimli chuckled, glancing between the two elves, and shook his head, slapping his sturdy knees in repressed glee.

The moon that rose above their camp along the west bank of the great Anduin was full, and shone with a luster that brightened the land and the ever flowing water with a soft, sliver brilliance. Lalaith sat silent, cross legged and still as stone, upon the ledge of a foliage shrouded rock that edged out over the rocky bank where the boats had been dragged for the night. The night air here at the river's edge felt warm to her, and she had removed her quiver along with her Lorien cloak and her jerkin, and she had unfastened the top clip of her tunic as well. But now she was beginning to regret that she was without her weapons as she watched the shadowy scrap of a log slip quietly down the flow of the water, and bump softly into the rocky bank some distance downstream. In spite of the warmth she felt in the night air, she still shivered. She could see the glimmer of large dark eyes peeking just over the top of the rotten wood, and she caught a soft gasp in her throat and flinched a little as the back of her shoulder, the spot where she'd been branded so many centuries before, began to pulse with a low ache.

She reached a hand over her shoulder to massage the ache through the thin cloth of her tunic. But the pain did not ease.

"'Tis Gollum." A warm voice whispered at her shoulder as Legolas came near and knelt behind her.

"Yes." Lalaith whispered in return. She felt Legolas' warm hand trail along her golden braid until it came to rest on her shoulder. His thumb instinctively brushed the spot where her shoulder was beginning to burn, and within an instant, the pain receded and faded, her skin cooling beneath his touch. "The Men have noticed, as well." She added, nodding downward, through the branches that hid them, toward Aragorn and Boromir.

"Gollum." Aragorn's quiet voice echoed Legolas' as Boromir peered out from behind a large boulder, watching the same rotten log as it slowly drifted along. "He has tracked us since Moria."

Legolas' hand had not left her shoulder, and Lalaith smiled, closed her eyes, and leaned into his touch, forgetting the humans below her, and turning all her senses to Legolas. "I have missed this, Legolas." She murmured quietly to the cool night air.

"As have I." He returned, inching closer.

Lalaith glanced below here where her quiver was resting, propped up against a twisted, dried out husk of a log, with her cloak and jerkin folded neatly on the log's smooth surface between Merry and Pippin as they slept, the weak firelight dancing off of their sleeping faces, both of them turned toward her belongings as if they were guarding them for her. Gimli slept not far off, his customary snores interrupted by occasional mumblings. Frodo was not sleeping, yet, and Sam was not, either. Sam, with worried tones, was trying to convince Frodo to eat something, but the small Ringbearer seemed too troubled and occupied, to take Sam's offer. At last Sam reluctantly retreated, and went to his own bedroll. Frodo lay down also after a few more moments, but he did not close his eyes. By the troubled look on his face, she guessed that he was listening to Boromir who was speaking to Aragorn, his once soft words now escalated into harsh, argumentative tones.

Lalaith sighed. Frodo did not need any more to trouble him. He had enough as it was, having the responsibility of the One Ring thrust so unwanted, upon him. If it had not been for Sam, dear little Sam, now tossing restlessly in an effort to sleep comfortably, the journey would have been even more difficult for the poor Ringbearer than it already was.

By the tones of Boromir's raised voice, it was clear that he was at odds, painfully so, with Aragorn over their future path. Boromir wanted to go by way of Minas Tirith, in Gondor. Aragorn did not believe such a path would be a wise choice.

"You are afraid!" Boromir fairly shouted at Aragorn. His voice harsh and accusing was magnified in the quiet, causing Lalaith to flinch where she watched from her perch. Legolas' hand tightened upon her shoulder. "All your life you have hidden in the shadows! Scared of who you are, of what you are!" His words cut off then, and he glanced about, his gaze half angry, half ashamed. A battle was going on inside of him. That was clear enough, and Lalaith pitied him.

"_I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city_." Aragorn hissed quietly, yet decisively, effectively ending the argument.

"Lalaith, come." Legolas urged from behind her, taking her mind off of the conflict between the humans below her. "I found something I want to show you."

His hand slid down her arm from her shoulder to her hand, and he stood up, lifting her to her feet.

Intrigued by the suddenly eager tones of his voice, Lalaith followed him, as he led her through the thick, shadowy brush. So curious, she was, as to what Legolas wanted her to see, that she did not noticed Boromir stalk angrily, silently away from Aragorn, and into the mass of trees that bordered their rocky encampment on the edge of the river. The shadows were deep and the trees were thick and gnarled about them, the underbrush too, so that the two Elves had to stoop beneath tangled, overhanging branches every so often as Legolas led her along. But ahead of them, she could see an open space, lit by the light of the moon, open and grassy, and dotted here and there with wildflowers of varying colors and shades.

"I found it but minutes ago, scouting the area." Legolas said with a proud grin crossing his face, as they at last broke into the modest clearing. He stooped and plucked up a small flower, offering it to Lalaith. "This is nothing like Imladris, but I thought you would like it."

Lalaith smiled as she accepted the flower, and tucked it behind the peak of her ear.

"It is lovely, indeed, Legolas. Thank you for bringing me here."

"Consider it the beginnings of my clumsy attempt at an apology." Legolas said quietly, his voice almost sad as he reached for, and took her hand within his.

"An apology?" Lalaith asked gently, lifting her eyes to his. His countenance had taken on a penitent, endearing look, and she smiled. "There is no need."

"Oh, but there is." Legolas interrupted, in a somewhat mischievous voice. The hand that held hers within it rose into the air as if he were preparing to dance with her, and his free hand reached out, touching lightly at her waist. "For I owe you a dance. May I have the honor?"

Lalaith laughed lightly, and rested her free hand upon his shoulder in joyful consent as he led her effortlessly around the glade in graceful dance steps to a silent song.

"You were wearing pink silk that night." Legolas recalled as they moved in time to the silence of the night. "With flowers of the same color tucked into your hair as it fell long about your smooth, perfect shoulders."

Lalaith smiled lightly and blushed as Legolas spun her under his arm, then caught her against him once more.

"Ah, yes." Legolas grinned at her flushed face. "That very color."

They laughed softly together, before Legolas' face grew somewhat serious. "I wanted, more than anything, to dance with you, that night. But because of my foolishness, Boromir got you instead." Legolas' eyes grew wistful, and a faraway look came over them. "How I envied him, watching him there, with you in his arms."

"There was no need for you to envy him." Lalaith said gently. "Though I danced with Boromir at the feast, it was you with whom I danced in my dreams."

A warm look softened Legolas' features at these words. Their feet slowed to a stop, and Legolas released her hand to bring his fingers to her face, studying the warm blue depths of her eyes that caught and held the starlight within them as they gazed up into his own. His hand at her waist tightened, slipping slowly around, to press against the small of her back, drawing her closer.

"Indeed?" Legolas murmured. His fingers brushed against her neck as they caught the rope of her hair in his hands. Legolas drew it over her shoulder, letting its weight run through his fingers until he came to the small strip of white cloth bound at the tip of her hair. "We must have shared the same dream, then."

Lalaith glanced away from his eyes, feeling the white cloth binding her hair slip away in Legolas' hand as her braid slowly began to loosen and unravel. She felt like a child, suddenly shy as he lifted his hand, and caressed her smooth cheek with the gentlest touch of his fingertips. Her hair had fallen completely free now, and tumbled in loose waves down her back, and about her shoulders.

The fingers that swept so lightly against her cheek trailed slowly down over her jaw until they touched the pail, smooth skin of her throat. His thumb brushed softly under her chin, gently tipping her face upward toward his own.

She lifted her eyes now to his, studying the way his eyes seemed to hold warmth within them. His smile and his eyes were inviting. Her hands rested shyly, tentatively against his chest, her fingers feeling the movement of his breath beneath the supple leather of his jerkin.

"Legolas-," she sighed as his warm, fragrant shadow enveloping her, his hand about her waist tightening even more, pulling her against himself. She fell silent as his head lowered toward hers, and she shivered like a child, feeling strangely vulnerable, as if this were her first kiss, as if he'd never held her like this before. Someone's heart was pounding rapidly, and she wondered detachedly whether it was her own, or his, or perhaps, a mingling of both.

Lalaith caught her breath as Legolas paused, his lips mere inches from her own. She could feel the sweet warmth of his breath against her face, and she knew his fingers could feel her racing pulse beneath the flesh of her throat. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes, awaiting the heavenly pressure of his warm mouth to capture her own.

"What are you doing out here by yourselves?"

Lalaith stiffened in surprise at the rough tones of the common tongue, and the harsh resentment within Boromir's voice. The human, in spite of the noise he must have surely made, had somehow come upon them without either of them noticing. She and Legolas slowly drew apart to face him. Lalaith did not fail to notice the look of vague distrust that crossed Legolas' face. Nor did she overlook that he drew a protective step forward, partially blocking her from Boromir's sight where the Man stood at the edge of the glade, glaring back and forth between herself and Legolas.

"This is not a time to be wandering alone. Not with Gollum about." Boromir grumbled unhappily. He was clearly smarting still, from his lost argument with Aragorn, and perhaps now, from something more.

"Then what are you doing here, Boromir?" Legolas queried, his voice mild, though it carried a hint of challenge in it.

Boromir frowned, and allowed a flash of anger to shoot through his eyes, "Not allowing myself to become so distracted by a woman that anything short of a troll crashing through the trees could surprise me unawares."

Lalaith flinched at the tone of Boromir's voice. She could sense Legolas stiffen, but thankfully, he said nothing.

"Nor am I the one who has brought Lalaith out here alone, where she could very easily, be-," his eyes narrowed accusingly at Legolas, "hurt."

"I am not a little girl, Boromir." Lalaith said as gently as she could, though she could hear a tremor in her voice.

Boromir eyed Lalaith over, taking in her unbound, disheveled hair, and her thin white tunic, unfastened at the throat. "I am certain, my Lady, that Legolas is already well aware of _that_." He finished viciously, "In more ways than _I_ wish to imagine."

"What is your meaning?" Legolas demanded, his eyes flashing angrily.

"You know what I mean, _elf_." Boromir hissed darkly.

Lalaith shivered in sudden fright. Never had she seen Boromir behaving like this. If she did not know better, she could easily believe that this man standing before her was not the Boromir she knew, but a cruel imposter. This man could not have been the one who had so awkwardly, yet so hopefully presented her with a flower in Imladris at their first meeting, or the one who had saved Legolas' life in Moria. He could not be the man who had so gently held her when she cried out her grief in Lorien, the day after she had found out the truth of her past, and believed that Legolas did not love her any more.

Legolas stepped forward until he stood toe to toe with Boromir, glared at him levelly and ground out, "Are you questioning the Lady's honor, Lord of Gondor?"

"No." Boromir drawled slowly, flexing his fingers where they hung at his sides. "I'm questioning yours."

Legolas' jaw grew taut at these words, but before either man could move, Lalaith thrust herself between them, and shoved Boromir so forcefully in the chest, that he stumbled clumsily backward several steps before he was able to find his balance again.

Boromir frowned disapprovingly. "Lalaith-," he managed before her hand cracked resoundingly across his bearded cheek, stunning him into silence.

"_No dinen_, Boromir!" Lalaith cried, surprised to feel tears pushing suddenly into her eyes, and even more astonished at the fierce emotion in her voice. "Legolas is nobler than you could ever hope to be!"

Boromir staggered backward at her words as if she had struck him again, his expression betraying more pain than what he could have felt from the stinging in his face alone. His voice was broken and weak as he stammered, "Lalaith, I, I-,"

"Go away Boromir!" Lalaith ordered, her words laced with fury. "The sight of you behaving like a sniveling, selfish _child_, sickens me!" She made as if to march after him, to strike him again, but Legolas snatched her wrist, and gently, but firmly pulled her back.

Legolas' touch brought calm back to Lalaith's mind, and the fury she had felt moments before melted away as Legolas turned her gently toward him and pressed a warm hand against her cheek, his eyes seeking her own, and silently questioning her with gentle concern. And with the release of her anger, the tears came suddenly, and she fell against Legolas' chest, sobbing.

The warmth and the security of his sturdy, comforting arms circling about her, drawing her tightly against him, only served to bring out more tears, and Lalaith buried her face against the warmth of his neck, and continued to cry.

"I-, I-," Boromir stammered. He stared at Lalaith, sheltered now against Legolas' chest. His face stung and burned, but its pain was nothing compared to the wounds that had been gouged into his heart at her expression of furious disapproval. He had not meant to hurt her. In truth, as he pondered the confrontation between himself and Legolas, he had meant for none of it to happen.

He had been angry, and his pride had still been smarting when he stumbled into the clearing unawares, and saw Lalaith in Legolas' arms once again. The light of the moon and the stars rested upon the pair standing together in the middle of the moon washed glade, as if the Valar themselves took joy in seeing them as they were, less than a breath of air between their parted lips, soon to be joined. Something dark had come over him when he had seen the two elves together, something that now, frightened him to think of. A wave of angry, almost violent jealousy had gripped him then, and he had stepped forward with no other thought but to keep them apart.

Never in his life had he been so eager to inflict pain on anyone as he had Legolas at that moment. And indeed, if Lalaith had not stepped in and struck him, voicing her absolute disgust with him, and stinging him back to reason, the conflict between himself and the Elven Prince would have come to blows. The thought filled Boromir with a sudden surge of self loathing and horror. Legolas was his comrade, his brother in arms. It was Legolas who had prevented him from falling to his death in Moria. Boromir owed him his life. Yet moments before, he had felt an eager surge to take Legolas' life from him.

"I-, I-, I'm sorry." Boromir finally muttered, knowing how pathetically lame his words must sound. "I-, I'll go now."

Legolas glanced up at him, offering him a glance of commiseration, which, Boromir knew, was more than he deserved, after what he had almost done. But Lalaith did not acknowledge him at all.

Boromir turned away from the clearing, wanting to leave, but unable to tear his eyes away as Legolas bent compassionately over the sobbing elf maiden, whose sorrow Boromir was entirely responsible for.

"_Dina_." Legolas breathed soothingly in Elvish, smoothing her glittering hair away from her delicately peaked ear. "_Dina, meleth nin._"

"_Amin hiraetha, Legolas_." Lalaith whispered through her tears in return. "_Nallon ve selde_."

"_Avo `osto, Lalaithamin._" Legolas murmured softly, and gently kissed her smooth brow. "_Henion._"

"_Le hannon, Legolas_." Lalaith sighed raggedly, nuzzling closer to him.

Boromir shuddered, turned, and stumbled away into the shadows, his feet made heavy with grief over Lalaith's sorrow, and his own self hatred. If he lacked such control over his passions that he could come to near blows with Legolas, was he indeed as strong as he thought he was? Could he truly turn the powers held within the One Ring for good?

_It is only a simple tool!_ The thought sprung vehemently into his mind. _A gift to those of great enough courage, that they do not fear to use it against Sauron! I am not as Aragorn. I do not fear myself! I am not ashamed of who I am!_ A smile began to form upon Boromir's lips at this thought. _And if I possessed the power of the One Ring, I could make her love me. Legolas would be unable-, _

The smile that had been growing upon his lips faded suddenly away at this thought, and he thrust it angrily away. "No." Boromir muttered beneath his breath, and shook his head. "I would use it only to protect my people. To restore the glory of Gondor. I will not use it to take what is not mine."

Boromir grew silent now, for the trees had opened onto the rocky shore where the others slept. He glanced toward the dying fire where Frodo was sleeping, and his eye caught the glint of gold beneath the folds of the hobbit's shirt.

"Boromir?"

His eyes shot up to see Aragorn still awake, thoughtfully sharpening his sword sitting almost invisible beneath the shadow of a boulder.

"You are still awake?" Boromir gulped. "It is my watch."

"I will watch with you." Aragorn answered mildly. "Four eyes are better than two."

"Very well." Boromir nodded awkwardly.

"Have you seen the Elves?" Aragorn asked, rising to his feet and sheathing his sword.

"I have." Boromir gulped.

"And they were together?"

Boromir nodded, his throat constricted shut.

Aragorn managed a slight grin, though his smile did not reach his eyes, which were fixed, mistrustingly, on Boromir. "Good."

Boromir remained silent, and turned his eyes to stare out at the ever flowing river, not trusting himself to speak.

_No dinen- be silent  
Dina- hush  
meleth nin- my love  
Amin hiraetha- I'm sorry  
Nallon ve selde- I cry like a (female) child*  
Avo `osto- Do not worry _

_Henion- I understand  
Le hannon- I thank you_

* _ve selde_ (like a child) is actually Quenya, not Sindarin, but I couldn't find the Sindarin translation for these words.


	29. Chapter 28

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 27**

**August 2, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

**Disclaimer: LOTR is the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien.**

Chapter 27

"Oi, Lalaith?" Pippin's chirpy little voice invaded the warm, half wakefulness of her sleep, and Lalaith stirred softly at his voice, becoming aware of the small confines of the boat where she was curled, trying to sleep fitfully, and how her braided hair, coiled beneath her head where it rested on a plank, made a very inadequate pillow. A small hand was gently shaking her shoulder. "Are you awake? Or asleep? I can't tell."

"She's asleep. Both of `em are." Answered Merry's voice. "But leave off. Boromir said he'd take her watch."

"Oooh." Gurgled Pippin. "Gives me the shivers. How can elves sleep like that? Don't they get dust in their eyes?"

Groaning softly, Lalaith lifted herself from sleep, blinked her eyes, and focused them on Pippin.

Pippin was leaning over into her boat, jostling her shoulder, while Merry sat a few paces away perched upon a low, twisted piece of log. His eyes were wide, his little pipe puffing away as he watched her sleeping as if it were the most entertaining thing he had ever seen.

"Lalaith! You're awake!" Pippin grinned, as if he had just accomplished an amazing feat.

She glanced about herself, taking in their surroundings with a fresh perspective. Hours before, when they had moored their boats on this thin strip of rocky shoreline, the wane light of the new moon had shown little, even to her elven eyes, and she had been too exhausted and preoccupied to notice. The three boats rested side by side on this thin strip of rocky ground bordering the Anduin. The ordeal of the earlier night was but a memory now, and for that, Lalaith was glad.

She shivered as she sat up, thinking of jutting rocks and the rapids of Sarn Gebir that had come upon them unexpected in the darkness of the night, and had driven their boats nearly upon the shoals of the eastern bank. She remembered the dark, foreboding figures that had been running to and fro in the shadows along the eastern bank of the river, and the twang of orcish bows. And as if to serve as a chilling reminder that it had not been a frightening dream, a black feathered shaft even now, still protruded from the gunwale of Merry and Pippin's boat. But thankfully, none of them had been hurt, and they had at last turned their boats to the western shore, and had taken a brief rest. But that had not been the last of their troubles.

What that dark winged shape in the sky had been, Lalaith still was not certain. It could not have boded well for them, for the very sight of it coming at them from the south, tar black against the night sky blotting out the moon and the stars, filled her heart with dread, and burned the scar in the back of her shoulder. But then the bow of Lorien had sang, Legolas' arrow had flown from his bow, the one Galadriel had gifted to him, strung with Lalaith's own hair, and a harsh, croaking scream had emitted from the black shadow before it had fallen into the darkness over the eastern bank. Lalaith shuddered again now to remember it, grateful it was now only a memory.

"Pippin. Merry." She greeted the hobbits at last, forcing a grin and sitting up, causing the warm Lorien cloak that had been tucked snuggly about her, to tumble to her waist. She looked at it wonderingly, for her own was fastened about her shoulders. She heard Legolas release a soft breath in his sleep. Perhaps Legolas-, but when she turned and looked upon him, where he slept in the stern of the boat, beyond the ever snoring Dwarf, she could see the green leaf brooch still fastened at his throat, his own cloak shrouding him warmly.

So whose cloak was this? It was too long to belong to any of the hobbits. Besides, she could see that Pippin and Merry both wore theirs. It might be Aragorn's. But she could see Aragorn sleeping lightly, in his boat, seated almost upright. Aside from his closed eyes, he looked awake. His cloak was wrapped about his shoulders, and fastened with the leaf brooch as well, so it was not his.

Lalaith felt her face flushing furiously, as she realized who had once again, so thoughtfully covered her with his own cloak, so that she might be warm.

"Do either of you know where Boromir is?"

"He's watching for trouble." Merry offered helpfully, pointed out path that led up through thick bramble, perhaps toward a higher place where a lookout could perch.

"I don't think he's slept." Pippin added cheerily. "But he swears he's not tired."

"Or cold?" Lalaith queried, lifting Boromir's cloak questioningly. As an elf, extremes in temperature did not affect her as easily as they would a mortal, but she still felt herself shivering from the chill in the air, and knew Boromir would feel the effects more than she.

The two hobbits shrugged helplessly in answer to her question as Lalaith scrambled up to her feet and hopped from the boat. "I'll go return this to him."

Pippin and Merry nodded agreeably, and turned their rapt attention onto Legolas, where he was sleeping, his eyes open and unblinking, gazing sightlessly up through the sparse branches of the scrubby trees that surrounded them, at the diamond stars set against the black velvet of the sky.

"When's he going to _blink_?" Pippin complained beneath his breath. "It hurts just to watch!"

Lalaith turned away from the hobbits, hopping lightly over the rough stones that edged the river, and scrambled up the gnarled path. It wound steeply upward through thick growth, ending at last on a ledge partially concealed by vegetation, but clear enough that it gave one a fair view of the river, of the boats below where the others rested, and of possible coming trouble. Boromir was here, as the hobbits had promised, standing at the edge of the steep bank, one hand clutching a low hanging branch as he gazed intently out over the river, his other hand holding something small within it, his eyes occasionally dropping to whatever it was he held. He smiled softly, turning it over as if he wanted to admire it from all angles. And in spite of her being so close to him, he appeared to be oblivious to her. It was difficult to see, half concealed in his hand, but it looked like, Lalaith bit her lip hard, a _ring_. Her heart thundered suddenly within her, and she wondered if somehow he had gotten the One Ring from Frodo. But no. As she turned and glanced below her at Frodo where he slept, half propped up against the side of his boat, she could see the glimmer of the One Ring, still upon the chain that hung around his neck. So what was this, that Boromir held within his hands?

Lalaith took another silent step, straining forward to see what it was, when a twig cracked softly beneath her foot.

Boromir's head jerked up, and the hand holding whatever he had been gazing at, darted into a leather pouch on his belt, and came out empty.

"Lalaith." He said as he turned to face her. "What do you want?" His voice was a little abrupt and harsh, and Lalaith found herself frowning.

"That is-," Boromir's voice faltered, growing softer, and penitent. "I did not hear you coming."

"Then it appears that Legolas is not the only one who allows himself to be distracted," she returned, hearing the angry spite in her voice, surprised that she didn't even care whether it hurt him or not. She had not spoken to Boromir since the night he had come barging with the grace of an angry bull, into the silence and the peace of the moon lit glade where she had danced with Legolas, where he was about to kiss her for the first time in days uncounted.

"Yes, I-, you are right." He stammered, and his eyes shot downward. "I-, I am sorry."

After a short pause, he added, "For everything."

Lalaith pursed her lips, and glanced away, trying to force herself to believe that Boromir was indeed truly sorry.

Everything had been perfect between her and Legolas before Boromir came. And after Boromir had left, though Legolas had held her, and soothed her back to calm, he had not tried to kiss her again. The quiet, almost hallowed serenity was, after all, gone, ruined by Boromir's spoiled fit of temper.

Lalaith looked Boromir over, suddenly angry and annoyed. It took all her strength to keep herself from spouting more cutting words at him, informing him of how truly flawed and wretched he was, until she remembered the gray Lorien cloak folded over her arm.

She looked down at it, feeling foolish, for Boromir had given up on his own comfort for her sake. And with that thought, much of her anger melted away.

"Boromir, thank you." She murmured, thrusting the cloak toward him. "It was not even needed. I was not ill or hurt, and yet once again, you gave me the loan of your cloak."

"Do not think on it." He returned with a small shake of his head. He took a step forward, but his hand did not extend to take the proffered cloak back. "It was my pleasure, Lalaith."

His eyes probed into hers, and suddenly Lalaith felt terribly awkward.

"Thank you, again." She muttered, and pressed the cloak against his chest and released it, so that he was forced to catch it in his hands.

She turned quickly away.

Boromir gulped and blurted, "I am worried about you, Lalaith."

"Worried?" Lalaith asked, she stopped, turning her head halfway. "Why?"

Boromir released a soft laugh as if her question had humored him. "We are journeying into Mordor. We are passing through the hill country of the Emyn Muil. With all that has happened, especially this last night, why shouldn't I be worried?"

"I know what our quest is about, Boromir." Lalaith frowned, turning back to him. "I know where we are. But why did you say you were worried about me? You could as easily say `Lalaith, I am worried about Merry. I am worried about Pippin.' By Arda, Boromir, why not worry about Frodo? _He_ is the Ringbearer!"

Boromir's face twisted. "I am sorry. I only-," he gulped hard. "I care about you, Lalaith. You are a woman. I-, I know you have Lord Elrond's blessing, but in truth, I wish you had not come with us. I was raised to be a warrior, and from my earliest memories, I have always been taught that women are not dragged along to battle, but to be protected-,"

"You mean cloistered away?" Lalaith shot back, a part of her regretting that she was being so unkind to him. But coupled with her anger that still was still smarting after what he had done, their first night on the river, his stammered attempt at expressing tender feelings for her, was inciting her to snap at him. She well remembered the curse that Sauron had spoken, and how Manwe had only the power to partially counter it. Any mortal who ever learned to love her deeply, would die because of that love. Eolyn had loved her as if Lalaith were her own child, and she had died. And if Boromir loved her with more than the love of a brother for a sister, then he too would die. Lalaith shuddered at the thought, and glanced hard at the ground.

"Lalaith," Boromir asked softly, stepping forward, and touching her arm with gentle fingers. "Lalaith. What have I done to offend you?"

Her eyes shot to his face as she jerked her arm from his touch. "How can you dare to ask such a question, Boromir?" She fumed. "You know what you did! Must I remind you? You questioned Legolas' honor. How could you dare to speak thusly?"

Boromir's face flinched as she said this. But unlike what she expected, his expression was not one of anger, but of deep, fathomless sorrow, and regret.

"Lalaith," he breathed, his voice choking, "Lalaith. I was wrong. I am sorry." Boromir gulped hard. "I should not have done what I did, but when I saw him with you in his arms-," his voice seemed to go dry.

"Boromir," Lalaith blurted suddenly, "you have heard of what I saw in the Lady Galadriel's Mirror, have you not?"

"Yes, you spoke of it, while we were yet in Lorien." Boromir's voice was soft. He did not seem perturbed in the least that she had interrupted him. He even seemed a little relieved that she had.

"You know the story of Eolyn, then?"

"Eolyn, the wife of Anarion." Boromir answered with a nod. "The mortal woman who saved you, who had lived for more than two thousand years in the tower of Barad-Dur. Hearing her story answered more than your own questions. No one had ever learned what happened to her after her husband's death."

"She died saving me, Boromir." Lalaith answered, her voice catching slightly as she spoke.

"Yes, so you said."

"Have I not told you of the curse Sauron spoke of me, when I was a baby?" She asked with pleading in her tone.

"That any mortal you ever learn to care for, would die." Boromir said with a nod, his brow furrowed.

"It is more than that," Lalaith murmured softly, "Eolyn died because she loved me. She did not simply _care_ for me. She loved me as if I were her own daughter."

Lalaith's throat felt dry as her words continued to tumble from her mouth. "I do not fear for Aragorn, where the curse is concerned, for though he is one of my greatest, most trusted friends, he loves me only as a sister. No more than that. His heart belongs to my cousin, Arwen."

Boromir was silent for a moment before he spoke. "You are saying that any mortal man who loves you as strongly as a lover," he gulped and added, "as Legolas loves you, would be in danger of the fate that befell Eolyn."

"Yes, Boromir." Lalaith said with a slow nod.

"You have nothing to fear, then." Boromir said slowly, struggling to offer a smile, though it was weak and thin. His voice was soft, and Lalaith doubted that she would have been able to hear it without her elven hearing. "Legolas is an Elf."

Lalaith tried to find Boromir's eyes in the darkness, to see if there was something he was hiding from her, but he would not look at her.

Below her, Lalaith could hear her companions stirring, and Sam and Frodo were awake, and Lalaith turned to see Sam glancing up at the moon above them as he began to speak.

"It's very strange." Muttered Sam in the quiet as the soft ripples of the river murmured eternally in the background. "The Moon's the same in the Shire and in the Wilderland, or it oughter be. But either it's out of its running, or I'm all wrong in my reckoning.

You'll remember, Mr. Frodo, the Moon was full as we lay on that flet up in that tree. And we come out of the woods, and the Moon's still full. We've been a week on the way, and you can see how the moon's waning, a week from the full, now, as if we had never stayed no time in the Elvish country.

"'Course, I can remember three nights in there for certain, and I seem to remember several more, but I would take my oath it was never a whole month. You'd think that time did not count in there."

"Perhaps that is the way of it." Frodo answered his friend. "In that land, maybe, we were in a time that has elsewhere long gone by. It was not, I think, until Silverlode bore us back to Anduin that we returned to the time that flows through mortal lands to the Great Sea. And I don't remember any moon in Caras Galadhon, only stars by night and sun by day."

"No, time does not tarry, ever." These words, warm in the cold and darkness, came from Legolas who had stirred and woken as the hobbits had been speaking. "But change and growth is not in all places alike. For the Elves the world moves, and it moves both very swift and very slow. Swift because they themselves change little, and all else fleets by. It is a grief to them. Slow, because they do not count the running years, not for themselves. Yet beneath the Sun all things must wear to an end at last."

"Your life is a-, what'd you say? Grief to you?" These sympathetic words were snorted out by a half woken Gimli. "Why's that, my friend?"

"Mortal friends grow old and die before our eyes. That is why I spoke of grief, but-," Lalaith could see Legolas smile through the darkness, "do not worry, Gimli. While Lalaith is in it, my life has enough joy to more than counter the sorrow that I may meet."

Lalaith smiled at these words, and though she sensed Boromir watching her as Legolas spoke, he glanced quickly away when she turned to look at him.

"I think I will return to the boats now, Boromir." Lalaith said finally, seeing Boromir's attention focused studiously away from her as she turned toward the steep path.

"Unless-," she turned back, and lifted her eyes to his face. "Unless you wish to take some sleep for yourself. Pippin fears you have not slept at all since we moored the boats."

"I am well enough off." Boromir said, with a gentleness that warmed Lalaith's blood. "Being alone is refreshing to my mind, Lalaith."

"Very well, Boromir." Lalaith said, her own tone softer than it had been.

She smiled, saddened that he did not return the smile, then turned and descended the path toward the river.

Boromir watched her go, feeling the loss of her near presence. But he admitted to himself, as he flung the cloak about his shoulders, and fastened the leaf brooch, that he was grateful for its added warmth, especially knowing that the warmth that lingered upon it, was from her. He reached into the pouch at his side, and felt the smooth, cool contours of her ring, but he did not take it out again. Instead he turned his eyes back on the river.

"Hrm." Gimli grunted beneath his breath where he sat behind Lalaith as their boat floated placidly along the tide of the Anduin, bordered by gnarled cliffs of gray and white stone, scrubbed with sparse spots of thorn and sloe. "Boromir's in a foul mood."

Lalaith glanced over her shoulder at the dwarf, and he jerked his head in the direction of the boat where Boromir rowed, with Pippin and Merry in front of him, oblivious to their companion's somber disposition. Boromir's face did not lift to meet her gaze when she looked at him, and was furrowed and drawn down.

"He believes Minas Tirith is the safer route." Legolas murmured from behind the dwarf. "Aragorn, though, does not want to take the ring anywhere near the cities of Men." Legolas' glance at her over the top of Gimli's head spoke plainly enough that he too, knew there was more to Boromir's melancholy, than that.

"Hrm hmm." Gimli grunted, and nodded somberly, though he did not say more.

Lalaith turned her eyes away from Boromir, and faced forward, not wishing to see his wounded, tormented face any more.

The cliffs edging the Anduin had been rising higher, the river winding through narrow cataracts between the jutting cliff walls, their sight of the river ahead limited only to the next bend. And so, when the first towering statue came into view suddenly, towering above the white cliffs edging the Anduin, the effect was spectacular, especially with the light of the rising sun striking off it, and off of its companion that came into view a moment later.

"Frodo." Lalaith heard Aragorn in the boat a few measures ahead of her, murmur as he touched Frodo's shoulder and glanced upward. "The Argonath."

A breath caught in her lungs and held as the river bent around a cliff, and the full height of the two ancient statues came into view. They stood, on either side of the river, higher than the cliffs surrounding them, their enduring stone faces somber and resolute, the left hand of each extended outward in warning.

"Isildur and Anarion." Lalaith muttered to herself. She had never seen them before now, but Elrond had spoken to her of them. Men, in ancient days, had carved them out of the raw stone of the cliffs that bordered the river. The signs of the quarrying of stone were still visible where Men had cut them from the sides of the cliffs to fashion these two majestic monoliths that still stood, though they had endured for more than three thousand years.

"Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old. My kin." Aragorn continued in a reverent tone.

The faces of all her companions lifted upward, awe and wonder written in their countenances. Even Boromir's face took on a look of weary admiration as the three boats floated like light, quick leaves beneath the aged stone feet of the ancient giants.

Past the Argonath, the river rushed more quickly now, and the cliffs rose dark on either side. The high walled chasm through which their boats fairly flew, was filled with the roaring of wind and rushing water, and the noise echoed off of the sheer cliffs. It bent, at first, toward the west, so that Lalaith and the others had no clear view of what was ahead. But then a tall gap of light appeared at a bend in the cliffs, and grew ever brighter as they drew near. And then abruptly, they shot through, out into clear, golden light, a blue sky brushed with high, white clouds, and the calm, sparkling water of Nen Hithoel, the Lake of Mist.

Nen Hithoel was a fair, oval shaped lake, bordered by tree covered hills, while at the far southern end, an ever present mist rose into the air, from the eternally roaring falls of Rauros. The falls were split in the middle by the jutting peak of Tol Brandir, and were flanked on either side by the hills of Amon Lhaw, and Amon Hen. Lalaith remembered Elrond telling her that in the ancient days, long even, before her birth, there had been high seats upon those two hills, and watch had been kept there. But now, they were no longer used, the strength of Men no longer what it had once been.

This thought saddened Lalaith a little, especially as she glanced over at Boromir, and saw him gazing forward, his thoughts masked by a face as if made of stone. Perhaps his mind was still dwelling on the Argonath, the statues bordering the lands of Men, the symbols of great might and power, that no longer were. She caught him glance once or twice at Frodo, where the Hobbit sat with Sam and Aragorn, and Lalaith sensed something fearful when his eyes rested upon the Ringbearer.

They paddled their boats slowly along the western shore of the lake until they came upon a small bay carved by the natural wear of the water upon the land, and that had, at least in ancient times, been used. For there were carved stones, worn and ragged from the effects of time, jutting out into the water, helping the natural bay form what had once must have been an ancient docking place. The edge of water was bordered by a bend of land, curved down from the feet of Amon Hen.

It was impossible to see far beyond the strip of ground bordering the little inlet where their turned their boats, for the trees were thick, and shadowed. And ancient time worn, moss covered statues, more remnants of the ancient power of Men, now past, peered through the trees down upon their company, as if silently warning of foreboding danger.

As she looked upon them, a strange, intangible coldness seemed to grip her heart, and Lalaith sensed, though only mutely, a feeling of impending danger.

Silent, she hopped out, as the boat carrying her, Gimli and Legolas, crunched to a stop on the pebbles that lined the edge of the water. She strode to the edge of the trees to peer into the shadows as Gimli and Legolas dragged the boat to higher ground. Behind her, Merry and Pippin tumbled wearily out of their boat, and in Aragorn's boat, Sam and Frodo also scrambled out, though Frodo's movements were not so stumbling. He moved with caution as if he were a small animal, sensing an odd premonition of danger. His head was bent downward, and his troubled blue eyes flicked toward Boromir where the Man still sat, his hands gripping the edges of the boat, his head hanging, as if he were utterly weary, though, Lalaith shivered to see it, there was a tenseness in his eyes, as if he were thinking, calculating. He was planning something, she could see it, and she feared to discover what it was.

Pippin and Sam with muttered instructions from Gimli, had already begun laboring to kindle a small fire. Legolas was helping Aragorn drag the boats further away from the waterline, and Merry was busily hunting out dead wood amongst the nearest trees.

But Frodo, with large, worried eyes, was stumbling off into the shadows of the forest.

No one else but her had noticed, Lalaith thought, until, with a chill that sent shards of razor edged ice down her spine, she saw Boromir lean his shield against a near tree, and move quietly into the forest shadows, his eyes fixed and determined, following the path Frodo had taken.

* * *

Sam sat huddled beneath a moss covered, overhanging rock half asleep, while Pippin and Gimli sat near the fire. Gimli was absently poking a stick into the flames, rousing sparks, as Pippin munched on a mouthful of lembas.

Legolas, however, noticed none of this, as he stood peering into the shadows of the trees, as if they held the answer to the impending sense of doom that would not leave his mind.

"We cross the lake at nightfall. Hide the boats, and continue on foot." Aragorn's voice came from behind him, only serving to drive home the shaft of fear that they should not delay leaving any longer. Nightfall would be too late to avoid whatever unwanted presence was approaching their company.

"We approach Mordor from the north."

"Oh, yes?" Gimli's voice asked, rough edged, and sarcastic. "Just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks. And after that, it gets even better. Festering, stinking marshland as far as the eye can see."

"That is our road." Answered Aragorn with a calmness that must have infuriated the Dwarf, and Legolas would have found amusing, if he were not preoccupied with the tense foreboding that filled his thoughts. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength Master Dwarf."

"Recover my-?" Gimli huffed, affronted. "Pghrr!"

An icy fist gripped Legolas' chest. They should be taking no time here. He spun away from the trees and strode quickly to Aragorn who glanced up as he approached.

"We should leave now." Legolas said softly but insistently.

"No." Aragorn shook his head lightly. "Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me." Legolas insisted glancing searchingly back at the trees. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind." He turned back to Aragorn, glad that his words were drawing up Aragorn's own concern. "Something draws near. I can feel it."

"Recover strength?" Huffed Gimli at the fire. "Pay no heed to that, young Hobbit."

Merry approached the fire, and dumped an armful of deadwood beside it, and with a companionable slap to Gimli's shoulder, straightened up, and glanced around, a questioning look growing on his small face.

"Where's Frodo?" He asked innocently.

His question brought Sam out of his half sleeping state, and the others glanced sharply around.

The question caused a leap of anxiety in Legolas heart, though he did not show it until his eyes darted about, and he noticed that others were missing, as well.

"Boromir." Aragorn said softly, though now there was an edge in his voice as he nodded toward the Gondor Lord's abandoned shield.

"Lalaith!" Legolas almost choked on her name, cursing himself inwardly for not having noticed before. "Where is Lalaith?"

His eyes swept once, and then twice through the trees as if somehow he had missed her, and would see her again, but she did not appear. And the threatening sensation, that he had thought could not grow any darker, suddenly became a black weight in his chest.

Frodo and Boromir had disappeared, and Lalaith with them.

**I hope you are enjoying this story so far. If you like this story, you just might like my own published books on Amazon. Type my real name, Loralee Evans, into search and it will bring them up.**


	30. Chapter 29

**Lothirien of Lorien - Chapter 3**

**August 5, 2003**

**Disclaimer: LOTR is the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien.**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Lothirien of Lorien, chapter 3

Lothirien stood high in the branches of a young Mallorn, gazing through the trees, up toward the ridge of the mountains as the sun dipped low behind them, setting the rough ridge of mountains in stark black relief against a fiery sky. It was something of a relief to be wearing a tunic and men's breeches again. It allowed for so much more freedom of movement, than her gowns did, pretty enough as they were.

Behind her, the branch creaked softly, and she smiled to herself, pretending to be oblivious to the new presence behind her.

Her smile only grew broader as she felt his hands gently smooth aside her hair, and his lips gently nip at the curve of her neck.

"Honestly, my Lord, have you no shame?" She asked teasingly. "I must beg of you, attempt to control your passions, else you desire to be flung from these branches."

"Hmm." Haldir's breath brushed her soft flesh, as if considering a bargain, and then his arm circled around her waist, pulling her close against his chest. "Agreed, dear Lady." He murmured as he continued to nuzzle her throat. "Having a few bones broken is a small price to pay for a single moment of bliss, with you."

"Indeed?" She whispered back, feeling a pleasurable warmth tingle up and down her spine. "Though he is one of the most arrogant Elves of Lorien, my Lord must not be a very shrewd negotiator."

Haldir guffawed softly in mock offense. "Oh, I think I'm far more shrewd than you, my Lady."

"Is that of a truth?" Lothirien asked with a warm sigh as Haldir's other arm circled about her waist, and she settled her head back against his shoulder, her eyes focusing on the distant mountains as the fire of the sunset faded and slowly cooled to a warm magenta.

"My Lady will have the pleasure of tossing me out of this tree, but I have the pleasure of holding her like this, if she is generous enough, for a few moments longer. And in that, I have the better part of the bargain." Haldir whispered, pressing a kiss against the tip of her ear.

Several more moments passed in delightful silence, and Lothirien closed her eyes, content to feel the rise and fall of Haldir's chest against her back.

"Well, my Lady?" He asked after a long pause.

"Mmm?" She asked contentedly, turning her face to look up into his.

"Are you going to throw me off this branch, now?"

Lothirien laughed, and pirouetted gracefully within the circle of his arms to face him. "I've changed my mind."

"Oh?" Haldir's face took on a look of innocent inquiry. "And why is it, that my Lady has become so generous?"

"Because I have decided that I prefer you whole, rather than damaged." She stated sweetly. "And as our wedding is in but three days, and you have admitted that you have yet to fully-, how did you say it? _Apologize_? Well, then, far be it for me to rob you of the chance to make, as you said, full amends to me."

Haldir grinned at her words, gently smoothing his fingers through her long hair. Slowly, his smile faded, and his eyes darkened with warmth. "Lothirien." He whispered softly.

"Haldir." She returned. She sighed happily as his lips pressed softly against her brow.

"You know that I love you, only you?" He asked as he pressed a soft kiss to the end of her nose, his voice soft and pleading, endearing, like a little boy's.

"Yes, I know." Lothirien whispered gently.

"You do not think less of me, that I loved Lalaith once?"

"Haldir." Lothirien sighed, her voice carrying a tone of gentle scolding. "It is in the past. Do not berate yourself any longer. I feel no resentment, not for her, or for you. I know you love me, now, and will forever. You will never leave me, and I promise you, I will ever be at your side."

"And I will be at yours." Haldir grinned, kissing the tip of her nose lightly.

Lothirien smiled softly, and lifted her face toward his. Haldir, seeing the longing in her eyes, more than willingly, did as she silently requested, and bent his head, longingly pressing his mouth to her own as the sunset faded in the western sky, and the first stars of evening began to appear.

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 28**

**August 10, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 28

The shadowy fear that Lalaith had felt earlier, only grew greater as she hurried at a near run, deeper into the trees, and the almost overwhelming urge to turn and run back to Legolas and the others insistently nagged at her. But she stayed true to her course, certain that for the moment, Frodo needed her more. She followed a course that led slowly upward, up the side of Amon Hen, passing the ancient stone remnants of the occupation of Men here. Old stone steps led upward, broken here and there, by the wear of time. And statues, ancient and moss covered were ever present, scattered throughout the shade of the trees, their sightless eyes gazing down upon her.

Her quiver upon her back, laden with arrows of Lorien, as well as Legolas' old bow, and her own two knives, gave her some comfort, but she sensed that the darkness she could feel coming at them, could not be held at bay simply by her own weapons.

She was beginning to wonder if she had taken a different path than the Man and the Hobbit had, when she heard a voice through the trees. Boromir's voice, and she knew he had found Frodo. It did not sound angry at all, but still Lalaith broke into a run, following it where it came floating at her through the trees, from up the slope of the hill. For all the amiability in his voice, she knew Boromir had followed Frodo for one reason. For the Ring.

The spark of suspicion that had been smoldering within her, flickered into a bright flame when she heard Boromir's words grow angry, and escalate into shouting. The trees began to part, and she could see Boromir fling down an armload of deadwood to the ground as he advanced on the Hobbit who looked frightened, as he retreated from the much larger human.

"I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" Boromir insisted. He held out his hand, partly in pleading, though he seemed more to demand it, than ask. "If you would but _lend_ me the ring."

"No." Frodo spoke, and Lalaith could hear the insistence, and the fear in his tone as the Hobbit drew back even further. Though her lungs were already taxed from her hurried jog through the trees up the slope of the hill, she only doubled her efforts, now, and broke into a near sprint, dodging trees, and leaping dead logs as she rushed as straight as she could, toward the two.

"Why do you recoil?" Boromir continued as the Hobbit continued to back away. "I am no thief."

"You are not yourself." Frodo spat insistently.

"What chance do you think you have?" Boromir demanded, his words a whispered hiss. "They will find you. They will take the Ring. And you will beg for death before the end!"

With a sneer of disgust, Frodo turned away, and started to march away, with the air that Boromir should consider this the end of his attempt to take the ring.

"You fool!" Boromir raged suddenly. "It is not yours, save by unhappy chance! It could have been mine!" He started after Frodo, who, glancing back at him, broke into a run. But the Hobbit's short legs were no match for the Man's longer stride.

Boromir tackled the small Hobbit just as Lalaith skidded to a stop beside them, and breathlessly shouted, "Boromir! Stop! Let him go!" She hesitated to reach out a hand, fearing that Boromir, in his madness, might strike out at her before he knew who she was.

"It should be mine!" Boromir shouted, wrestling Frodo for the Ring. He had not heard her at all. "Give it to me! _Give it to me_!"

"No!" Frodo yelled, pulling something from beneath his shirt. For all the struggling going on between the two, Lalaith could not see what it was. But when Frodo suddenly vanished into the air, she realized it had been the One Ring, and that he had shoved it onto his finger.

Boromir paused also, long enough for the now invisible Hobbit, to kick him away. Lalaith heard a flurry of leaves as Frodo scrambled to his feet, and suddenly, as if from nowhere, an invisible force plowed into her stomach, and knocked her back a step.

"Frodo?" She gasped, reaching out, her hands closing on two small shoulders, feeling the rough cloth of Frodo's cloak and coat beneath her hands, though, to her eyes, it appeared as if her hands were closing over nothing but empty air.

"Very good, Lalaith! Hold onto him!" Boromir barked, jumping up. "The little imp will take the Ring to Sauron! He will betray us, if you let him go!"

Glaring at Boromir's angry face, Lalaith gave a derisive hiss, and released her hold on the small invisible shoulders. She heard mumbled thanks, and felt a brush of his cloak as Frodo darted past her. A log behind her clattered, as the Hobbit leaped over it, but she did not turn to look. Her eyes were focused on Boromir now, his eyes red with fury, and fixed now, upon her.

"You let him go." Boromir growled as he studied Lalaith's uncurled fingers, and heard the flurry as the Hobbit ran away. "He is going to his death, now. And the death of us all!" His eyes narrowed accusingly, and a fire raged in his eyes. For the first time since she had known him, Lalaith suddenly felt afraid of Boromir.

"You let him go!" Boromir shouted, advancing at her, as he had at Frodo, his eyes lit with mindless madness. "Why did you not heed me?"

Lalaith stumbled backward with a frightened gasp, a tree catching her in the back, and she could retreat no further.

"Curse you!" Boromir railed at her, stomping nearer. "And all Elves and Halflings!" He raised his gloved hand as if to backhand her across the face, and she gasped and flinched, turning her head, awaiting the impact of his strike, shutting her eyes against the pain she knew was coming.

She waited. But it did not come.

After a long moment, she slowly cracked one eye open, followed quickly by the other, when she saw Boromir, no longer enraged, no longer an angry shadow towering above her, ready to strike her. Instead, he was kneeling. Kneeling at her feet. He had pulled his gloves off, flung them aside, and was staring at his hands as if he could not believe what he saw.

"I almost struck her." He mumbled, his face bent downward to the ground. "I almost hit Lalaith. Oh, Great Eru, what have I done?"

Lalaith caught a breath in her lungs, frozen, still pressed against the tree, as Boromir covered his face shamefully with his hands. "Forgive me, Lalaith!" He choked between wracked breaths. "I am sorry."

"Boromir, what has happened to you?" Lalaith pleaded, her limbs suddenly weak with shock in the aftermath of her fear. Her lips trembled, and she could feel the tears in her eyes pushing over the edges of her lashes.

Boromir flinched as if in physical agony, and bent his head downward again. "When will I cease to hurt you?" He moaned bitterly. "When will I do anything that does not somehow cause you pain?"

"Boromir-?" Lalaith asked, taking a step forward, toward the Man's crumpled form.

"At our first meeting." Boromir choked, lifting his head, and glancing up at her through glassy eyes. "So eager was I to hope that there was no real love between you and Legolas, that I boorishly suggested that your betrothal was arranged. Do you remember?

"Then in Lothlorien." Boromir continued, gulping hard. "The morning after you had looked into the Lady's Mirror, and you discovered your past, when Legolas dared not even touch you. I followed you when you ran into the forest, demanding you tell me what had happened. And it was not my place, nor my right to do so.

"And then on the river." Boromir pressed ahead, his voice thick now, with self-loathing. "I came between you and Legolas. I made the accusations I did, warranting more than the mere slap you gave me."

He finished, his voice heavy with mournful hopelessness. "When have I done _anything_ that hasn't hurt you?"

Lalaith swallowed softly, gazing down at Boromir where he knelt in misery, not truly expecting an answer from her, for he believed she had none to give him. And then she remembered, opened her mouth, and softy answered, "When will you see the goodness in your heart before the weaknesses?"

Boromir lifted his head, straining to see her. He shook his head, not understanding.

"Boromir, you remember what you have done wrong." She murmured. "But do you remember all that you have done right? Do you remember the flower you gave me at our first meeting?"

She lowered herself to her knees before him, and gazed at him beseechingly. "It was not required of you. It was a simple gesture of admiration and respect. And kindness! Never have I met a kinder Man than you, Boromir. How good you have been to Merry and Pippin, though Varda knows their antics would drive many others mad!"

Boromir's eyes began slowly to clear, and a hopeful smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

"How often have I woken to find your cloak about me as we traveled," Lalaith continued. "Just last night, you covered me, though you needed your cloak more than I did."

Lalaith smiled softly and continued, "In Lothlorien, when I had discovered my parentage, and I was heartbroken because Legolas believed himself unworthy of me, you followed me because you cared. You were worried about me."

Lalaith gulped hard, blinking her eyes to hold back new tears. Her words faded as she remembered the one thing Boromir had done, for which she could never repay him, or give enough thanks to him. "And in Moria, you saved his life." She murmured softly. "Legolas would be dead, were it not for you, my dear, dear friend."

"Your friend." Boromir murmured sadly.

"Yes." Lalaith nodded. She gulped, and scrambled to her feet. She turned her back to Boromir, and took a few steps away from him, only to hear him rise to his own feet, and take a tentative step after her. "For I love only Legolas, and you know well of Sauron's curse." She sighed raggedly, and tried to laugh softly. "You would never do anything rash, knowing it would mean your inevitable death." She turned slowly, to see Boromir standing a few paces from her, gazing down at her, with softness in his eyes. "Would you, Boromir?" She finished softly, suddenly unsure.

For a long moment, Boromir was silent as he dropped his eyes to his hands. At last, in a voice that was as quiet as a breath of wind, Boromir spoke. "I know I am not as Legolas, for indeed, I have not the length of years that Elves are blessed with, or the wisdom that comes with them." Boromir studied his hands as they clenched and unclenched. Lalaith looked at them as he did, and noticed how much they were trembling. "I do not wish to take his place in your affections, for it is he whom you love, and no other." Boromir gulped softly, "But my heart will burst if I cannot tell you of a truth, that I love you."

Lalaith shuddered, her gaze taking on a look of sudden horror. An icy fear seized her in its cold grip, threatening to close off her breath.

"I love you." Boromir repeated plaintively. "With what I possess, though I could never equal him in worthiness, I love you as much as such a mortal as I, am capable."

"No, Boromir. You can't! You-" she stammered. She shook her head violently. "You are no different than Haldir. He once asked for my consent to marry him. I denied him, but he has recovered! He has found another, and he loves Lothirien so much more than he could ever have loved me. You can do the same."

Boromir sighed at her words, and dropped his eyes. "I am me, Lalaith. Not the March Warden of Lothlorien. What I feel for you, cannot end. I know I am but a child in your eyes. I know you are certain that you know better than me. I know you wish to save me from grief and pain. But it is too late, Lalaith. I fear it was too late the moment I first ever saw you in Rivendell."

"No, Boromir," she whispered. "You could not. How could you have loved me at our first meeting? You did not even know me."

"But I did know you, somehow."

"No, Boromir." She shook her head violently. "You could die for loving me. Do you not understand? I am cursed! Any mortal who loves me as you claim to, will die for that love! Eolyn loved me as her own child, and she _died_, Boromir! If you want to live, forget your feelings for me! Go away. Far away! Leave the Fellowship and return to Minas Tirith, if you must. You will find that you come to your senses soon enough. You will find another to love, and this will be remembered as nothing more than a childish dream to you."

Boromir shook his head, and though he did not lift his eyes to meet hers, she could hear the emotion in his voice as he spoke. "From the first moments when I saw you, when I called out to you and you turned to me, from the moment I saw your face, I knew I could love no other. Even if you never loved me, I could love none but you." Boromir gulped hard, and glanced at her momentarily before he looked away again. "It was more than the beauty of your face that captured my heart, Lalaith. There is something deeper within you that I found myself loving, that has only ensnared me all the more as we have traveled together upon this quest. Perhaps I was born to do no more than love you from afar as I have, and if in loving you, I am required to die for you, then I will do so, only willingly."

"No!" Lalaith protested vehemently. "No, Boromir. Listen to yourself!" She tried to hide her misery with anger, but was unsuccessful as she caught a sob in her throat. "It is madness, what you are saying!"

"How could it be madness?" He murmured gently. "Is it madness that Legolas loves you? That _he_ would willingly die for you?"

Lalaith shuddered at the thought and answered softly, "I love him back, Boromir! You are a good man, and you deserve to be loved by the one you love!"

"And because you do not love me," Boromir blurted raggedly, "Then it would not be so great a loss, if I died to save you. My life is not so valued to you, as is his. Were I to die, you would mourn me for a time, and then, Lalaith," he gulped hard, "you would recover."

Grief gripped her heart in a merciless fist at these words, and a sob wracked her. "No, Boromir. Do not speak like that! I do not want you to die." She covered her face in her hands, fighting to remain afloat in this tumultuous sea of frightened emotions.

Lalaith shuddered as she felt Boromir step forward and catch her arms in his sturdy, calloused hands. "But what I said, is true. You bear no great love for me. No more love than that which you feel for a friend." He, took a breath and continued, his voice soft, and sorrowful. "Still, I cannot deny the love I have felt for you from our first meeting. And if I can do nothing to show you that love, save to die for you, I am willing and ready."

"How can you _say_ that?" Lalaith choked in angry disbelief, wrenching at the hold he had upon her, and pounding her fists weakly against his chest. "You would throw your life away, on a whim? You do not know what you are saying! You are a fool, Boromir! You are little more than an ignorant child! You are-,"

"Please, Lalaith." Boromir whispered, his voice softened with pleading. His hands captured hers, and held them unmoving against his chest. His hands were rough and large and scarred, unlike Legolas' hands, lean and strong, and soft in their touch. "I have been a warrior all my life, and I am well acquainted with the risks of death. Still, I would never lightly toss my life away. But if I had to choose between living, and dying to save you, I would give my life up, gladly. For you, it would be a worthy loss."

"No-," Lalaith began through furious tears, but she could not finish, for she had lost all hold upon her emotions, and she was weeping, great wrenching sobs, so that she fell helpless, against his chest.

"Lalaith." Boromir breathed as his arms circled about her. His arms, like his hands, were large, and brawny, yet they were gentle also, holding her softly against him, as if he held something of immeasurable worth in his arms. "It grieves me to see you cry like this. You mourn me as if I were already dead."

"And well I should." Lalaith choked out. She lifted her face and looked up at him, blinking her eyes to clear them of the tears that clouded her vision. Her voice was weak and pathetic in its pleading, but she did not care. "I do not love you. But I do care deeply for you. Please. Save yourself. Stop loving me. I am begging you, Boromir."

"I cannot do that, Lalaith." Boromir whispered softly.

She studied his rough, bearded face, scarred and toughened from battle and the hardness of his life, but his eyes had grown warm and dark, reminding her somewhat of Legolas' eyes when he looked at her. Lalaith glanced downward. It was hard for her to understand how his hands, so capable with sword and shield, so rough and calloused, and so merciless against their foes, could be so soft now, so gentle as his fingers trailed lightly along the wet lines of her tears, and brushed softly over her shivering lips.

"I could never stop loving you." He whispered. His breath brushed against her mouth, and she blinked quickly, suddenly aware of how close his face had come to her own. But she did not back away.

She drew in a quiet breath as she felt the soft brush of his beard against her face and then his lips, pleasantly warm and soft, gently touched her own, once, and then twice. He drew slowly back, his eyes searching her face as if begging her for permission to kiss her again.

"Boromir-," she whispered breathlessly, but she was unable to say more as Boromir cradled her face between his hands, and with infinite gentleness, pressed his lips softly against hers.

Lalaith's heart seemed to melt within her, for this was not a kiss of passion, or possession, but of caring, of gentle compassion, and of love, absolute and unselfish. She knew Boromir was painfully aware that this was all he would ever have of her, but still he was not grasping and greedy. His lips were warm, and surprisingly soft and far more supple than she would have expected. And his beard, a strange sensation, tickled her face lightly as his lips softly moved over hers, tentatively tasting only what she was willing to give him.

At long last, Boromir drew back, sighing softly as he did.

"I love you, Lalaith Elerrina. And I will love you, always." He breathed, and released her, drawing his arms back to himself. His hands hung limply at his sides now. "But I know to whom your heart belongs." He sighed, and the sound of it broke sadly upon her heart. "And I know it is not me."

For the briefest moment, all she could see were his eyes, love and pain mingled within his gaze. And then, he turned away and fell heavily on a moss covered log, and dropped his face into his hands.

"Oh, Boromir." Lalaith whispered, reaching out and resting the tips of her fingers lightly upon his shoulders.

"You should go, now." He managed to choke out, without lifting his head. "You must find Frodo. He would flee from me if I were to follow him, and it is not safe for him to wander about, alone."

"Yes." She agreed softly. "Yes, I should." She turned slowly and started in the way she had heard Frodo run, but then paused, and glanced back at Boromir. He had not moved. He did not even lift his head.

Her heart twinged at the sight of him this way. How she wished she could see him as he should be, tall and proud and fearless, ready to face every obstacle Sauron put at them.

"Boromir." She called back gently.

He did not move, save for a small, almost indiscernible shake of his head.

Lalaith sighed, and not knowing what else to do, turned and began to run in the direction Frodo had gone.

"Frodo! Frodo, where are you?" Lalaith gasped, scrambling through the trees at the peak of Amon Hen, and breaking through into a place clear of trees.

She found herself now, upon a wide, flat circle, paved by great flagstones. And in the middle, set upon four aged pillars, was a high seat, reached by a stair of many steps.

"Frodo!" She cried again, glancing up at the seat, and about her at the shadowed trees.

"Frodo, please! Where-,"

An involuntary gasp clutched her lungs, cutting off her words, for in the distance, coming from the haze in the south east, a murky darkness, both like and unlike a black mist, came flying swiftly toward the hill upon which she stood, dim and insubstantial, but in its indistinct appearance, much like an arm. Very soon, it would be upon her. The mist came, and touched a hazy finger upon Amon Lhaw east of where she stood watching, then it glanced away, and lit upon the peak of Tol Brandir in the midst of the pouring falls of Rauros. It would come and touch down upon Amon Hen next, and the thought filled her with a black dread.

But as it sped at her across the space between the jutting peak of Tol Brandir, and the high seat which she stood beside, a form, small, like a child, materialized out of the air right before where she stood, falling from the high seat, as if Frodo had just tumbled over the edge and jerked the ring from his finger in the midst of his fall.

"Frodo!" She cried out, as he fell into her arms. She staggered backward, and collapsed onto the ground, still managing to keep the hobbit cradled like a child, within her arms.

She glanced above her, seeing to her relief, the shadow pass above them. It missed Amon Hen, and groped out west, and faded.

Frodo scrambled up, dusting himself off as he did. "I'm sorry, Lalaith. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"I am not hurt." She assured him, gulping hard. The threat of the shadow above them, was gone, but a black fist still gripped her heart. Danger was near.

"We should not be here, Frodo." She said, glancing toward the trees about them with a feeling of distrust. "Danger is coming, and it draws ever closer. You should take the ring and go. Back to the edge of the water."

Frodo gulped hard, and glanced down at himself, starting suddenly as he made a fearful discovery. "Oh, no." He muttered heavily. "Where is it? It was in my hand just a moment ago."

"The Ring?" Lalaith demanded, looking into Frodo's open, empty hands which he showed her as proof that it was gone. "It must have dropped in your fall. It can't have gone far." She put her hands out to push herself up and help in the search, when the pressure of something smooth and round beneath her hand, cool between her palm and the cracked stones, caused her heart to nearly stop.

"_Elbereth Gilthoniel_." Lalaith muttered beneath her breath, hoping that her first thought was wrong, and that she had not inadvertently touched the One Ring. Her fist, though she wanted more than anything, to simply draw her hand away, closed round the cool, smooth object, and drew it close.

And then as she brought it to her face, she saw it, cupped serenely in the curve of her palm. Fair and flawless, its unblemished form glinting innocently.

"Frodo." She breathed, frozen as if she cradled a venomous spider in her hand.

The Hobbit had been turned away, his eyes searching the ground desperately. But at her voice he turned to her, and his eyes grew large and round when he saw it sitting sweetly in her palm.

"Oh." He breathed, a tremor shivering through his voice. He remained where he was as Lalaith slowly rose to her feet, her eyes fixed unmoving on the Ring. He hardly dared to move, partly believing that any sudden motion he made would cause Lalaith to bolt away. It was an odd feeling, as if he were in a state of drunken vertigo, to see the Ring after all these months, with someone else.

Lalaith's limbs wrenched with pain as she held the Ring, for the urge to turn and run wildly away from Frodo, was almost too strong for her to fight. And though her hand and arm ached with the effort of holding up the Ring's weight, unnaturally heavy for such a small object, the simple task of tipping her hand, and letting it fall away, had somehow become impossible.

_Vile wench._ The Ring was saying. _Worthless snaga. How could you have ever thought that you could help the Ringbearer with anything? You do not even possess the strength to let me fall to the ground, weakling that you are! Snaga that you are, void of your own will! Take me now, back to my master, and submit to your fate!_

The One Ring paused as if thinking of something to itself, and then spoke again. _Better still, perhaps you could keep me for yourself. You are the child of Valar. You could be more powerful than Sauron, if you allowed yourself to be. You could defeat Sauron and all that is his, with the power that is in me! And you will rule Arda with me upon your hand! Surely you possess the will to use me for naught but good!_

But then, as a flash from some other point, some other power beyond the ring, Lalaith suddenly saw in her mind, Elrond's worried face as he had been in Imladris, when she had told him of how the Ring had spoken to her, calling her _snaga_, meaning slave, in the Black Speech.

"_Anything uttered from that vile tool of Sauron's is a lie_." Elrond had vehemently insisted when she had told him and Gandalf what it had called her. And his words continued now, to echo within her mind.

Lalaith blinked hard, aware of Frodo's anxious face where he knelt in front of her, watching her, his large blue eyes wide and worried as they gazed fretfully at her.

_Heed me, filthy snaga of Mordor! Together, we shall dominate all of Middle Earth!_ The Ring screamed in a violent panic, sensing her thoughts, and its weakening link to her mind.

Lalaith found herself shaking her head. She did not _want_ to dominate all of Middle Earth. She had what she wanted. And as that soothing thought calmed her fretting mind, she could see Legolas' face again, as it had been that bright autumn day, wise and fair, and both boyish and manly at once, and the pleasure that had brightened his eyes when she had at last found the courage to speak of her love for him, and had given him her promise of marriage. Legolas knew she was no slave of Mordor, as the Ring had claimed. But that she had her own will. She was free to choose. And with few moments left to do so, she chose.

Frodo watched Lalaith, his heartbeat caught within his chest as she began to speak, as if to the Ring, her words soft and measured. "_Le na i cor o bauglir._" What was she saying? Frodo watched her carefully, wishing he could understand. "_U-anirion le. U-anirion bal thaur o Sauron. U-lastha caita lin. A u-nion snaga lin._"

"Lalaith?" Frodo asked quietly, hardly daring to breath as the Elf maiden lifted her gaze and focused on him, before she glanced momentarily back at the Ring.

"I have defeated it." She said gently. "Sauron's Ring can trouble me no more with its lies." A look of almost restful peace came over Lalaith's face as she smiled at Frodo, and held the ring out to him, letting it slip easily from her palm into his. "Here, Frodo. Do not lose it again."

"Thank you, Lalaith." He said softly, in a somewhat breathless voice, and watched Lalaith smiled with quiet relief in her eyes as his fist closed around the Ring. He gulped, sensing, somehow, that a great battle had been fought and won, inside of Lalaith's mind.

"Frodo? Lalaith? Where is Boromir?" Lalaith jerked with a start at the voice, and turned to see Aragorn only a few paces away from them.

Frodo was just as startled, and his eyes had taken on a frightened, hunted look again as he blurted breathlessly, "The Ring has taken him."

Lalaith began, "Yes, but-,"

"Where is the Ring?" Aragorn demanded, drawing a few steps closer.

"Stay away!" Frodo cried out, as if suddenly afraid, as he scampered away beneath the stone seat.

"Frodo?" Aragorn asked, as he darted past Lalaith, and stopped several paces from the Hobbit. Throwing a confused expression at Lalaith as she came slowly to stand beside him, he said, "Has he forgotten that I swore to protect him?"

"I think he questions if you can protect him from yourself." Lalaith explained, putting a restraining hand on Aragorn's arm to keep him from approaching the Hobbit any closer. For now, having touched the Ring, having felt for herself the pull of its seduction, she knew why Frodo was afraid. Perhaps only Frodo, fighting its whisperings day by day, fully knew how difficult it was to resist the Ring, and how close she had come to succumbing to it. And how strong that pull must be for others the Ring deemed weak enough to ensnare. Others, like Boromir. And Aragorn.

"Or would you destroy it?" Frodo asked, his fingers uncurling from around the Ring.

Lalaith heard Aragorn draw in a breath as he saw the Ring in Frodo's hand, and she gulped hard.

"Aragorn?" She whispered as the human stepped toward Frodo, his eyes fixed upon the Ring. But he did not respond, as if he could not hear her.

"No, Aragorn." She muttered to herself and took a step after him as he reached a hand out, and paused, his fingers hovering mere inches from the Ring in Frodo's palm. What was the Ring whispering now to Aragorn's mind? Only he could know. His fingers trembled. But then Aragorn knelt so as to be at eye level with Frodo, and instead of taking the Ring, he gently circled his hands beneath Frodo's, and pressed the Hobbit's own fingers closed around the Ring.

Lalaith released a breath, not realizing until now, that she had been holding it.

"I would have gone with you to the end." Aragorn breathed, choking softly on his words as he pressed Frodo's fist, tightly holding the Ring within it, closer to the Hobbit's chest, and drew his own hands away. "Into the very fires of Mordor."

"I know." Frodo answered, his own voice breaking as he spoke. "Look after the others. Especially Sam. He will not understand."

He glanced with sad large eyes up at Lalaith who stood behind Aragorn, watching him soberly. "You will explain it to them, won't you Lalaith?" He pled. "You, more than anyone, understand why I must take it. Alone."

Lalaith bit her lip softly. Frodo was going-, alone? Alone to Mordor? She should have guessed before now that Frodo had been planning this, and while this new thought surprised her, she understood why he was doing it. He wanted to keep the rest of the Fellowship from succumbing to the pull of the Ring. The pull she had almost fallen victim to. He wanted to protect his friends.

Aragorn also understood, for he began to nod slowly.

But then he stopped, as his eyes fell to Frodo's sword, still in its scabbard. He scrambled quickly to his feet, drawing his own sword, and ordered, "Go, Frodo."

Lalaith's look of confusion mirrored Frodo's until she glanced down, and saw what Aragorn had seen, as Frodo drew forth a blue glowing blade.

She gasped sharply.

"Lalaith," Aragorn ordered, grabbing her arm, and practically shoving her toward the Hobbit, "go with him."

"Aragorn, no!" She snapped, jerking her own bow from her quiver. "I will not run away! Let me fight with you! You will need my bow!"

"I did not tell you to run away!" Aragorn shot back. "Go with Frodo! He needs you more than I! Whatever you do, keep the Orcs away from him!"

He gestured toward the trees that descended back toward the waters of Nen Hithoel, and commanded, "Run." Aragorn's eyes darted back and forth between the Hobbit and Elf who both stood as if unsure whether or not they should obey him.

"Aragorn-," Lalaith began, reluctant to go as Frodo was, who had paused behind her.

"Run!" He practically shouted again.

This at last, spurred them to action. With a last furtive shake of her head, Lalaith turned away, and Frodo shoved Sting back in its scabbard. Then the Elf and Hobbit turned and darted away, down into the trees, shaded and dark, the air beneath them quiet and expectant, as if waiting breathlessly for what was coming next.

Translation:

I do not claim to be an expert in Sindarin. I may be completely messing up the grammar, but this is what I think I had Lalaith say:

You are the Ring of a tyrant. I do not want you. I do not want the vile power of Sauron. I will not listen to your lies. And I am not your _slave_**.

**Snaga is the Black Speech, but I put it in for two reasons. 1- I don't know the word for slave in Sindarin, and 2- The Ring has been calling her "snaga" for some time, so to say "No, I am not you _snaga_", using the very word the ring has been using, just rubs the Ring's proverbial nose in the fact that she knows she is not its _snaga_, and finally has the confidence to say it.


	31. Chapter 30

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 29**

**August 25, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

_**Disclaimer: LOTR is the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

_If you are enjoying this story, maybe you will enjoy reading one of my own published books. If you type my name Loralee Evans into search on Amazon, it will bring them up._

Chapter 29

Frodo continued to scamper ahead, but Lalaith gasped and ground to a stop when the sound of metal ringing on metal echoed down at them through the trees. A sharp pain throbbed in the back of her shoulder. She turned back, searching the trees above her, gripping the bow Legolas had given her in her fist. From the sound of fighting, she could discern that Aragorn was vastly outnumbered, and though she knew how skillful of a swordsman he was, he could not last for much longer against as many as were coming at him.

"No! Aragorn!" She cried, and almost started back up the hill, feeling herself painfully torn. He needed help, but she remembered the charge he had given her, for her to keep the orcs away from the Ringbearer. At last, she turned, and continued in her rush down the hill.

Frodo had continued to fly ahead, his frightened footfalls noisy amongst the fallen, dead leaves scattered down the slope of the hill. Glancing upward over his shoulder, he stumbled over a young sapling, and a muffled grunt burst forth from him, as he sprawled onto the ground.

Scraping to a stop beside him, she hooked her hands under his arms and hoisted him to his feet.

"Frodo, are you hurt? Do you still have the Ring?" She asked breathlessly.

"I still have it." Frodo gulped, squeezing his fist in answer.

"Good-," Lalaith was interrupted by a noise coming from above them, a thrashing pounding noise, as of many feet rushing through the undergrowth, accompanied by heavy, pig-like grunting and panting.

"_Yrch!_" She gasped. She could not see them yet for the growth of the forest. But they were drawing close, and would soon come into view between the trees.

"Frodo, come!" She ordered, snatching his shoulder and pulling him along, as she ducked behind a tree with a wide trunk. It was one that was slightly indented on the downhill side, where they could hide, and with any luck, remain unseen by anything coming from up the hill.

She gripped her bow even tighter, and pressed herself as close against the bark as she could. She checked her breath as the heavy stomping feet and the grunted breaths broke through the nearest trees.

Lalaith's eyes widened in horror and fright, and the pain in her shoulder burned as the orcs streamed passed, and pounded down the hill. These beasts were nothing like any orcs she had ever seen. The orcs she remembered from two centuries before had been small, weakly looking things, though tenacious and dangerous in their own right. And the orcs of Moria had been much the same, though more hunched and scurrying with larger eyes to see in the darkness of the mines. But these orcs were a new breed entirely. They were at least as large as Men, and if possible, larger. Their oily skin was stretched tightly over vast, sinewy muscle, while the hair that grew from beneath their helmets hung long and matted down their backs.

They were armed with frightfully long swords, hooked just at the end, and shields as well. And their bodies were sheathed in heavy armor. She had not seen their faces yet, nor did she want to. Of the orcs that had hustled past their hiding place, huffing and snorting, none had turned, and she and Frodo, were for the moment, undetected.

"Hey! You two!"

At the hushed, grated voice, she turned her head in surprise, to see two familiar faces peeking out of the shadows of a hollow log, gesturing wildly at them.

"Hide here, quick! There's enough room for you, too, Lalaith!" Pippin rasped.

"Come on!" Pippin insisted when neither of them moved.

The urgent expressions on the faces of the two Hobbits slowly changed to looks of confusion.

"What're they doing?" Pippin hissed, turning to Merry.

Lalaith dropped her gaze to Frodo as he slowly shook his head back and forth, pleading silently with his eyes.

"Frodo's leaving." Merry muttered with finality, slowly realizing the truth.

"And Lalaith too?" Demanded Pippin. Merry didn't give him an answer, but Pippin didn't need one.

"No!" He insisted, scrambling out of the log, and into the open.

"Pippin!" Merry gasped, hurrying out, after him.

"Pippin, Merry, what are you _doing_?" Lalaith hissed demandingly. She could not see behind her, but she could hear the huffing and the grunting of more orcs coming.

Merry glanced over at her, his large round eyes darting from her to Frodo, and back again. "Run!" He hissed. "Go on!"

Turning back to look up the hill, Merry pointed and shouted, "Hey! Hey, you! Over here!"

Pippin looked at Merry mutely for only a moment, before he too, took up the cry, waving his arms madly at the orcs. "Hey!"

"Over here!" Merry cried.

"This way!" Shouted Pippin as he and Merry turned and ran madly away.

"You heard him, Frodo." Lalaith said in a low voice. "You'd better go."

"What about you?" Frodo gulped, as if not believing what she was saying.

"Aragorn's charge was to keep the orcs away from you." Lalaith answered, as she snatched an arrow from her quiver, and set it to her bowstring. "So that is what I will do." And with one last glance back at the small, frightened Hobbit, she stepped away from the trunk and darted after Merry and Pippin as they scampered away.

Lalaith barely paused as she turned, took aim at the nearest orc, and released the string. She felt a small portion of satisfaction as the arrow struck true in the foul creature's neck, bringing it down with a squeal of rage and pain. But more orcs were coming at them, pouring down the hill through the trees like a vile, oily flood. Huge monsters, their ever snarling mouths lined with rows of cruel, jagged teeth, their eyes narrow, and yellow, filled with hate, and a thirst for blood. Each creature had a mark on its face of a white hand. The symbol of their master, no doubt, that had created this foul, fearsome breed.

As Legolas and Gimli darted through the trees at the peak of Amon Hen, he drew back the string of his bow, and sent an arrow into the nearest orc, which fell with a high pitched squeal, as Gimli threw one of his smaller axes and took down another. If he had the luxury of time, Legolas would have allowed himself to be surprised at the number of dead and dying orcs that lay strewn over the cracked and aging stone at the base of the high seat. One would have thought that an army had killed them, not the one Man who was throwing the weight of a slain foe off of him, drawing out his sword that had pierced the creature clean through, the blade smeared black with orc blood.

"Aragorn, go!" Legolas shouted as Gimli lay into the nearest beasts with his ax. Once again drawing his string back to his cheek, he released it just as an orc was closing the last narrow distance before him, and the arrow pierced through its hideous body, catching also, another orc coming from behind the first.

_Where is she_? His mind screamed as he continued the grisly work of slaying his foes. He had not seen Lalaith since she had hopped out of their boat at the shore. Nor had he seen Frodo or Boromir. Where were they? Where was she? Was she with them? _Oh, Elbereth, let me find her!_

His questions raced around, unanswered in his brain as he turned at last, satisfied that Aragorn and Gimli had retreated to a more defensible position, and sprinted after them.

"Aragorn!" Legolas shouted, as he again came upon the human and Gimli, surrounded by many orcs at the edge of a steep slope of the hill, where more of the ancient ruins of Men lay. He drew his white knives, spinning and slicing with a vengeance into the orcs that came at him. "Where is Lalaith?"

"She has gone with Frodo." Aragorn cried in answer, breathless as he fought, unable to say more.

_Gone with Frodo? Gone with him, where?_ Was Frodo setting out for Mordor alone with none but Lalaith? This thought brought him small comfort. Legolas would have preferred to know she was with Boromir. For though he had long suspected Boromir's feelings toward Lalaith, Legolas also knew that the Lord of Gondor was a seasoned warrior, more capable of defending her than a small untrained Hobbit. As it was, Lalaith would be the one defending Frodo, and the possibility was great that she might even sacrifice herself to keep the Ringbearer from falling into the hands of Sauron's servants.

This thought fell like a heavy painful weight onto his heart, and spurred great fear and rage in his blood. What was he doing _here_? He should be with her, wherever she was! He wanted nothing more now, than to race madly through these woods, seeking her until he found her. But these vile creatures, these foul beasts whose creation had been inspired by the evil thoughts of Morgoth, were barring his way. The frustration that gnawed at him gave him strength, and Legolas flew into the orcs that came at him, determined, if it were possible, to cut them all down.

Lalaith skipped backward, struggling to keep even with the fleeing Hobbits, as she fired arrow after arrow into the oncoming hoard, littering the forest floor with their dying corpses, and still more came, snorting and growling, to replace those she brought down.

"Lalaith! What're you doing here?" Shouted Pippin noticing her as he and Merry scampered over tree trunks and dodged trees.

"We thought you were going with Frodo!" Merry cried.

"Aragorn's instructions-," Lalaith said, pausing again to snatch an arrow from her quiver, and let it fly into the nearest orc which let out a piggish squeal as it tumbled to the ground and lay still, "were to keep the orcs away from Frodo. That is what I intend to do."

Pippin watched her as she did her best to scamper backward, and shoot another arrow into an orc who had drawn menacingly close. "Well, I think it's working!" He hollered.

"I know it's working!" Merry added. "Run!"

In spite of Merry's cry, Pippin actually slowed, waiting as Lalaith came along behind him.

"Keep running!" Lalaith growled, pushing the youngest Hobbit along in front of her.

"You shouldn't be last of all!" Pippin argued, picking up his speed in spite of his spent breath. "You're a _lady_!"

"Confound it, Pippin! Stop being so chivalrous!" She shouted. "I'm the one with the arrows!"

Before them, an old stone footbridge spanned across what must have once been a small stream, but was now no more than a dried out dip in the forest floor. Merry and Pippin rushed across this, and she dashed along behind them to the other side, only to skid to a stop beside the two Hobbits who had also stopped in their tracks, for their escape was cut off. Somehow, some of their foes had circled around in front of them. Orcs were coming from everywhere now it seemed, fearless in their rage, snarling, their razor teeth barred as they leaped the fallen bodies of their fellows already taken down by Lalaith's arrows. And though she snatched arrow after arrow from her quiver, each shaft striking true to its target, still more orcs came. The bodies of the creatures she killed, lay strewn grotesquely about where they had fallen, only to be hurdled by those coming from behind. And the moment came when Lalaith's hand reached back to her quiver, and found nothing there. A chilling feeling of helpless doom settled upon her like a pall. Her arrows were spent.

Boromir stumbled slowly along, not caring where his feet were taking him, lost in the jumbled confusion of his thoughts. He was missing his shield, for he had left it behind, at the edge of the water. But he did not care. He barely noticed.

His mind fumbled over the events of the past few minutes, sickened and troubled that he would so violently try to take the One Ring away from Frodo. That itself, was proof enough that he had been wrong all along. Proof that he was not strong enough to wield it. That no one was. That indeed, it possessed a mind of its own, an evil mind, strong enough to subdue and possess the will of anyone foolish enough to think himself able to use it for his own purposes. Someone like himself. Oh, why had he not listened to Gandalf? To Aragorn and Lalaith, who had told him it could not be used for good?

The fear he had instilled in the small Hobbit's eyes still haunted him, even now. The One Ring had truly gained almost full possession of his mind. He understood that now, for he had not been himself then, especially so when Frodo in his blind haste, had stumbled into Lalaith, and she had let the Hobbit go. That which he had felt then, had been a blind, unseeing rage. And he had almost struck her, the maiden who meant so much to him.

Boromir paused and put a hand to his head, thinking of her, of the look in her eyes when he had shouted at her over her release of the Hobbit. She had been terrified of him, and the thought of it had jarred him back to himself, crushing him beneath a wave of shame and pain. And when she had spoken, sorrow heavy in her voice as she asked why he had done what he had, it had served to remind him of all that he had done to disappoint her from the moment of their first meeting. But when he had spoken of his failings, she had done something that had surprised him. He had partly expected her to rail into him with angry words, though he had hoped her to say nothing, agreeing with his self deprecation by her silence. But she had done neither. Instead she had gently reminded him of all that he had done right. The sweetness of her words and the forgiveness in her eyes had been a soothing balm to his wounded and tormented soul, and had allowed him to find the courage within himself to at last admit to her the truth of his love.

And she had let him kiss her. And for those few moments, when she had allowed his mouth to linger over her own, he had experience joy unlike anything he had ever felt before. Still, in the midst of his own happiness, he was unbearably aware that her warm, supple lips, tender and excruciatingly sweet to the taste as they were, did not return his longing.

She cared for him. She wept when he spoke of his willingness to die for her. But she did not love him. She could never love him. Her heart had been given to Legolas centuries before Boromir had ever been born.

_Legolas_. The name richoted about in Boromir's head like an angry wasp. He well remembered the first moments when he had come to Elrond's counsel, and had seen the Elf rise to greet the maiden Lalaith. And in that moment, Boromir knew that this was the one of whom she had spoken, the one she had loved for over a thousand years. For while they had greeted each other with the restraint and formality which Boromir had come to expect from Elves, he could see in the eyes of both, great tenderness, and deep longing, that which could only be felt by those who had nurtured such emotions for as many years as the race of Elves had been blessed with. As such a pathetic mortal as himself could never hope to comprehend.

Yes, Boromir confessed to himself, the love that existed between Lalaith and Legolas was something he knew he could not match. And for that, though he admittedly felt envy for Legolas' possession of her heart, Boromir could never feel bitterness. He could never wish ill upon the Elf. Legolas was a true comrade, and a worthy ally, and far more deserving of such a maiden as Lalaith than Boromir was. And Boromir, from the moment he had seen the beauty of the fair Elven maid, had desired nothing short of her happiness. Even if that happiness meant a life with Legolas at her side, rather than himself.

Lost in his musings as he was, Boromir did not notice the body of the dead orc until he nearly tripped over it. Seeing its inert oily body at his feet, he started and stumbled back. He drew his sword forth from his sheath with a harsh metallic rasp, his senses now tuned and alert, for though the orc was dead, it would not be alone.

His eyes darted about through the trees and back again to the dead orc. He stepped toward it again, and prodded it with his foot. It was larger than those he was used to seeing. Upon its feet, it would have been at least as tall as himself, if not, a half handspan taller. A long, hooked sword lay at its side, a shield still strapped to its left forearm. Upon its head was a helmet, and, thick dark armor had been girded about it. Kicking the foul thing onto its back with his boot, Boromir ignored the hideous, dead face, marked with the symbol of a white hand, to see an arrow buried almost to the white feather fletchings, where it had pierced through a weak chink in the armor fastened across the beast's muscular chest. Boromir's heart jumped into his throat. An arrow of Lorien. One of the fellowship, most likely Legolas or Lalaith, had slain the thing.

Once again, his eyes darted madly about, and came to rest on another inert orc, sprawled upon the ground many dozens of paces away to the north. Gripping his sword tightly, he ran toward the creature, only to spot two more, almost side by side, further ahead.

A black shroud clouded his heart as he sprinted on, and found another body again pierced through with a Lorien arrow. And he noticed now, how the ground and the low lying growth about the corpse had been crushed down and tramped over by many heavy feet. Deep footprints were left behind, not the light, almost weightless prints of Elven feet. Whoever had slain these creatures, was being hunted down by a veritable army.

He did not stop any more to inspect the dead orc corpses as he passed them, but sprinted along, his sword clutched in his fist, following the trail of bodies left in the wake of the archer who had felled them.

He could hear the orcs now, over the next knoll, snarling and growling in their thirst for blood, their voices deep and hungry. There were many dozens, perhaps hundreds, from the din they created as they thrashed through the forest. And as he bounded over the crest, he saw them through the trees. Hideous, and fearsome, these massive orcs, clearly bred for war, were swiftly closing in upon their prey. And as Boromir rushed onward, and the object of the orcs' fury came into view, his heart gave a great, painful leap within his chest.

Lalaith stood, her bow within her hand, a cool, concentrated light in her eyes as arrow after arrow hit its mark, bringing death instantly to every orc she struck. And at her feet, stood Merry and Pippin, clutching their little swords in their hands. The Hobbits were glancing this way and that, unable to help, for they had no bows as Lalaith did.

But then he saw Lalaith's hand reach back to her quiver, and pause. The calmness in her eyes was replaced by uncertainty and swiftly mounting fear as her hand withdrew empty, and he knew she had no more arrows. Doubling his efforts, he continued forward in spite of the fear that almost choked the breath from his throat.

Lalaith glanced down at the frightened faces of Merry and Pippin, before she looked up again, into the yellow angry eyes of the closest orc, drawing ever nearer, a large, black bladed ax clenched in its massive fists. It narrowed its cruel yellow eyes, and a hideous grin spread across its face, showing more of its sharp teeth, dripping with threads of saliva. It could see that her arrows were spent, and a guttural chuckle gurgled from its throat as it bounded nearer. Lalaith drew in a sharp breath, knowing she was making a poor effort of hiding her fear as she tossed her bow aside, promising herself she would retrieve it later, and snatched her two knives into her hands.

It drew nearer, closing the distance rapidly and time seemed to slow as it raised its fearsome black ax. And then suddenly, a flurry erupted in the corner of her vision, and Boromir was diving between the orc's descending ax, and Lalaith. He caught the orc's massive fist in one hand, twisted the ax fiercely from its hands, and turned the weapon on its owner, burying the black blade firmly into the orc's body.

Boromir turned and flashed Lalaith a brief smile, but there was no time for words, for the other orcs were upon them. Merry and Pippin were making good use of their little swords, and Lalaith tried not to flinch as she slashed her knives into the nearest orc and the rancid stench of their thick black blood assailed her nostrils.

"Where are they all coming from?" She cried, ducking the swinging blade of yet another orc, and burying her knives deep into its abdomen. She jerked them free, hating the feel of black oily blood covering her hands. "We cannot take them all, Boromir!"

Boromir, his sword clenched within both hands, swung the blade into the unprotected flesh of an orc's throat, before he shot a glance at her, and nodded, breathless. In a momentary lull, he snatched at the gilded horn he kept always at his side, and placing it against his lips, blew three quick blasts that echoed long through the trees before he dropped it, and turned just as another orc came upon him, slashing its weapon at him like a scythe, as if attempting to sever his body in half. But Boromir blocked the swinging blade with his own sword, beat its shield aside, and plunged the point of his blade home in the creature's chest.

Three rapid blasts from a horn echoed through the trees, bringing Legolas' head around sharply. The clear sound had come up from below the side of the hill where Legolas and Aragorn stood within a clearing, littered now with the bodies of orcs, each pierced through with one of Legolas' arrows. "The Horn of Gondor." He breathed.

"Boromir!" Aragorn cried, darting past him toward the noise. But his forward flight was cut off by another orc. There seemed no end to them. Setting his expression hard, Legolas snatched another arrow from his quiver, took calculated aim, and felled another orc, dead the instant his arrow struck it clean through.

_Where is she?_ Legolas wondered again as he snatched one of his knives, and thrust it into the unprotected throat of an orc that pounced at him, furiously swinging its black blade. _Have they crossed the lake? Is she safe from all of this?_

But as much as he allowed himself these tortured thoughts, he knew he could not find the answer.

Lalaith glanced up the side of the hill, fighting the heavy sickness that was weighing her heart, which only served to grow heavier as more and more orcs came pouring down toward them, a fearsome, overpowering wave, ready to crush them all beneath it. There was not a friendly face to be seen but for the two Hobbits nearby, and Boromir beside her, who again placed his horn to his lips, and sent out three more quick blasts. Surely Boromir's horn had been heard. Where were the others? Where was Legolas? A tight fear gripped her throat as she realized that wherever he was, he was most surely as trapped as she by these orcs. Had he found Aragorn? Was Gimli with him, or was he fighting these hideous creatures, alone?

"_Oh, Elbereth, mother_." Lalaith muttered, allowing her concentration to lag for a small moment. "_ Do not let him be hurt._"

"Lalaith!" Boromir shouted, leaping toward an orc coming at her from the side. He struck the thing in its face with his fist, his blow so fierce that the creature's helmet dented inward from the blow. The creature twitched and fell to the ground, unmoving. But Boromir, his rage at the creature uncontainable that it would dare to try and harm Lalaith, plunged his sword into the orc's chest, once and then twice. He straightened, and snatched at the horn again, though this time, the echo of his horn was cut short as an orc jumped at him, and he was forced to let his horn fall back to his side as he contended with the huge creature.

Another darted in, hoping to get at an unprotected spot on Boromir's side, but Lalaith stepped in its path, ducking its swinging blade, and spinning her knives into its stomach. It staggered back with a wounded howl, and Merry and Pippin dove in. Pippin jumped for its head and Merry dove at its legs, the deceptively small Hobbits taking it by surprise as the points of their short little swords cut short its grunt of angry disbelief.

"Run!" Boromir was shouting, and Lalaith glanced over at him, the desperation she felt inside, mirrored in his eyes. "Go, Lalaith!" He ordered as he parried an orc's blow, and stabbed his own blade home. But Lalaith was unwilling to obey him, and stayed at his shoulder, spinning and ducking out of the way of swinging blades as orcs came at her, and plunging her blades into exposed flesh between the unprotected spots in the orcs' armor.

Merry and Pippin did not run far either. A rock sailed past her, clanging noisily into an orc's helmet, and Lalaith was surprised to see the creature's legs buckle, as it collapsed limp, to the forest floor. Another rock flew over her head, having the same effect on yet another orc. For as small as they were, the two Hobbits were surprisingly strong. She allowed herself a small grin.

The pain came from nowhere, lancing into her just beneath her ribs, punching her backward several steps, and forcing a small cry to escape her lips. She shook her head fiercely, trying to understand what had happened, confused as to why her legs were suddenly weak. She dropped her eyes downward, gazing in befuddled wonderment at the thick black feathers protruding from the end of the long wooden shaft now jutting out at an odd angle from her body. Warmth was beginning to seep onto her skin. And as she touched a hand to the dark spot collecting around the black wooden shaft where it had punched through her jerkin, it came away wet and crimson.

Lalaith glanced upward at the crest of the hill, hoping for a lull in the endless stream of orcs coming at them, or perhaps, for a glimpse of Legolas' face, or even Aragorn's or Gimli's. Even Sam's round, honest little Hobbit face would have been a welcome sight. But instead, her glance met the cold yellow eyes of the fiercest looking orc she had yet seen. This orc wore no helmet, showing its long matted hair, and its fierce, snarling countenance all the more. Within one hand it carried a bow, nocked with a black feathered arrow. The sight of this orc filled Lalaith's heart with a sick dread, more than any of the others, but what made it so fearful was not its muscular stature, its thick dark armor, or the sharp teeth set within its cruel, snarling mouth. What frightened Lalaith most, were its eyes. Its eyes, yellow and filled with hate like the other orcs, contained something else that the others had not. Something that chilled Lalaith's blood as its gaze met hers. Intelligence. Calculated, cruel intelligence. While other orcs streamed madly past it, mindless in their hunger for blood, this creature strode along, coolly, its wits contained. Its eyes met hers as it paused at the crest of the hill, and offered her a harsh snarl of a smile. Its eyes spoke clearly enough. It wanted her dead.

She blinked her eyes, trying in vain to clear her blurring vision. She had-, she had dropped her knives. She needed to retrieve them. She lowered herself to one knee, gathered the haft of each knife where they had fallen to either side of her, but as she tried to raise herself up again, her legs would not obey. Her knees buckled, and she fell again, collapsing heavily onto her elbow.

"_Lalaith_!" She heard a small familiar voice shriek from behind her. "Merry! Lalaith's _hurt_!"

Beside her, Boromir, with a sickening chop, cut cleanly through the sword arm of the orc he had been fighting, and with a quick stab, ended the creature's wild shrieks of anger and pain. But he spun at Pippin's frantic scream, his face written now with horrified desperation.

"Lalaith, no!" He cried, turning and beginning toward her.

"Boromir, look!" Shrieked Merry in warning, pointing. And Boromir came back to himself, spinning and slicing his sword up into the abdomen of the orc coming from behind him. And more were coming.

Lalaith pushed herself back up, rising shakily to her feet as a wave of pain threatened to crush her back down.

She glanced down at the wooden feathered protrusion, her mind at last accepting the reality of what it was. It was an arrow, the head of which was buried deep inside her own body.

"Legolas-," she choked. Her eyes shot to Pippin's. "Pippin, where is Legolas? Where is he?"

Pippin shook his head helplessly just as a jarring thud, as painful to her ears as the pain in her side, brought her head up, though her whole body felt as if it were weighted with lead.

Pippin turned as well, and Merry froze, mid throw, a rock clenched within his fist.

"Boromir-," Lalaith whispered, seeing a black feathered arrow now quivering in Boromir's left shoulder. Boromir caught a painful breath as he dropped roughly to his knees.

"No!" Lalaith cried. She clenched her knives in trembling fists, and staggered toward the orcs that came bounding toward them, gleeful to see their prey wounded.

Lalaith stepped into the path of the closest orc, ducking its swinging blade, and slashing her knives toward the thick oily flesh of its throat. But her wound had slowed her, and the orc stepped easily out of her way. Her knives, instead of finding the beast's flesh, scraped gratingly along its armor.

She turned and spun her knives, trying again to find exposed flesh, but the orc dodged her blades, uttering a piggish grunt of a laugh. She cried out in pain as the creature, with a hideous mocking grin, snatched the black fletchings of the arrow buried beneath her ribs, and jerked on it, cracking the arrow in half, leaving but a ragged broken splinter poking through her blood soaked jerkin. A dizzying wave of pain tore through her, sending her down to one knee, her hands, without her willing, dropped her knives. And though she scrambled backward, trying to escape the foul creature's wrath, she was not quick enough. A huge, muscled fist came crashing into the side of her face, sending stars dancing in front of her vision, and a black shapeless cloud blotting out all she could see. Numbness overtook her, and she collapsed heavily to the leaf strewn ground, her mind floating away into black dreams as the cruel laughter of the orc echoed above her.

Seeing this, Boromir burst back upon his feet with a shout of fury that surprised the orc, slashing aside its furtively raised blade, and stabbing the point of his sword into the beast's body, jerking it free as the creature shrieked and fell writhing to the ground beside Lalaith's unmoving body to convulse wildly, and then lay still.

Another orc swung its blade at his neck in an effort to slice his head from his shoulders, but he ducked, slicing his sword upward, cutting into the creature's side. It shrieked once, then fell.

Boromir spun, seeing now the orc whose fierce yellow eyes were filled with malice, its bow drawn, it glare fixed upon Lalaith where she lay, crumpled within a bed of leaves, looking almost serene except for a long gash upon the side of her head where the orc had struck her. A slow stream of blood trickled down her otherwise unblemished face. Pippin and Merry had rushed to her side, and Pippin knelt close, gently shaking her shoulder, his little face pitiful in its expression of pleading. But she did not respond. Was she even breathing?

"Lalaith." Boromir ground beneath his breath, staggering near. He stepped in front of her and turned just as the arrow, meant for Lalaith, punched into his stomach. The force of this blow staggered him backward, and he stumbled again to his knees.

He cast his eyes about, seeking Lalaith where she lay, crumpled upon the ground, no less fair to him now as when they had first met all those months ago, in Rivendell. His eyes traveled from her to the two Hobbits, his friends, usually so happy and blithe, who knelt beside her, gaping at him in numb horror. The sight of the three of them lent him a last measure of strength, and he again managed though weakly, to stagger once again to his feet, his teeth set in grim defiance as more orcs came at him. From somewhere, not of his own, the power came, and he dashed their weapons aside, cutting through them fiercely, slaying one, then another, and at last a third. And though the blade of this last foe smashed into the horn at his side, cracking it in two, he managed to strike the foul beast to the ground before he stabbed his sword down, letting its weight slice through the creature's thick skin. Straightening, he drew in a ragged breath, just as a third arrow flew from nowhere, and slammed into the center of his chest. It brought nothing but numbness now, for he could feel no more pain, but it shattering the last remaining vestiges of his strength, and he collapsed, defeated at last, to his knees.

Merry and Pippin stared in horrified disbelief a moment longer, before they too snatched up their swords and with vengeful shouts, they lunged at the flood of oncoming orcs, only to be swept helplessly up by the vile torrent as the creatures snatched them around their necks yanking their small swords from their hands, heedless of their angry cries, and their flailing fists as they flung the Hobbits over their shoulders and ran, snorting and huffling like wild pigs, ignorant of the wounded human and the Elf who lay nearby, whether alive or dead, he could not tell.

"Lalaith," Boromir choked. Pushing himself shakily onto his hands and knees, he struggled through the forest of running orc legs, stumbling as they kicked angrily at him, his strength almost entirely depleted when he at last reached her side. He reached out, seeking her hand where it rested limply across her narrow stomach, her fingers stained with her own blood flowing from the wound where the ragged shaft of the broken arrow still jutted out of her. He found a small measure of comfort in the touch of the cold unresponsive hand as he took it within his own. From the pouch at his side, he withdrew her golden ring, and ran his thumb once more over the sapphire etched with the crest of Elrond's house. "This is yours. I should not keep it any longer." He choked, as he put it into her palm, and closed her fingers around it. But her hand, limp and cold, fell open once again, and the ring tumbled down into the leaves beneath her, stained now with Lalaith's blood.

"Lalaith." Boromir moaned, grasping her limp hand. "Open your eyes! Show me that you live! Please, I beg of you. That is all I ask." His voice grew faint and sad. "I want you to live. To be happy. To love him well. And to think of me, if only from time to time." He paused, choking on a sob. "Please. Lalaith?"

The maiden did not stir, though a slight breeze brushed a stray lock of golden hair across her face. He could not see even the faintest sign of breath, nor could he feel the rhythm of a pulse in her cold, limp wrist.

"I thought to save you." He moaned, tears clouding his already dimming eyes. A sob wracked his weakened frame. "I have failed you."

"Wot'ss `isss?" A pair of orc feet had stopped running, and stood before the Man who knelt beside the maiden's body. Boromir glanced up to see an orc, smaller than the others, but still fearsome looking. Aside from a scraping of limp gray hair, its wrinkled green head was otherwise bald. Its eyes were cold and yellow, and a row of tarnished metal rings marched down its face, pierced through its skin from its forehead to the end of its nose. "A sshe elff?" The hideous creature spoke in a sucking, hissing whisper that made Boromir's skin crawl. It paused and gnawed on its thick purple tongue as if forcing its brain to think.

"Leave her." Boromir hissed from deep within his throat, though there was an unmistakable rattle as he spoke.

"Oh ho!" Laughed the orc, turning its eyes on Boromir. "Ssshadup, ya half dead Manling!" It scowled fiercely, and struck Boromir hard across the face, breaking his hold on Lalaith's hand.

"No, Lalaith!" Boromir groaned as the orc snatched her by her wrists, and yanked her into the air, flinging her like a bagged deer over its shoulder.

Boromir choked on a half sob as he weakly reached after Lalaith, only to have his hands batted down again by the orc.

"Ssshadup, I sssaid!" The orc grumbled as if swatting at an annoying fly before it turned and jogged along behind the last of the armor clad orcs.

Lalaith floated in a numbing cloud of black, unaware and unfeeling, but as the orc's stiff shoulder dug into her stomach and jostled the broken shaft of the arrow, jerking it painfully about, she came again for a brief moment, to the harsh pain of the waking world as the forest about her came into focus.

Boromir knelt upon the ground, pierced by several black feathered arrows, and gasping in ragged breaths. His eyes had turned to follow her and the thing upon whose shoulder she was carried. And before she succumbed entirely to the black fog that swirled up once again to claim her, she lifted her head one last time, and gazed fleetingly into Boromir's pleading, grieving eyes before the blackness overpowered her, and she was enveloped back into the sweet bliss of oblivion.


	32. Chapter 31

**Lalaith Elerrina-Ward of Rivendell - Chapter 30**

**September 3, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 30

Legolas spun away from the slashing blade of a roaring orc, and sliced his knife into his target, the exposed oily flesh of the creature's abdomen, and his foe fell with a screech that echoed eerily through the trees of the suddenly still forest. He jerked his blade free, his eyes darting about for more movement, though there was none, and Legolas slowly came to the realization that there were no more orcs to fight. He straightened, his chest heaving as he stared about him at the ground littered now with the foul carcasses of orcs, an affront to the fair forest in which their bodies would rot. But the nightmare was over. Those orcs not slain, had fled, and were gone. And he and Gimli, at least, still stood.

He glanced at the Dwarf who stood by, his ax clenched within his fists as he cursed the corpse of the last orc he had slain, in his own choppy language and kicked at the foul thing with his thick boot, before he turned, and looked up at the Elf with fury in his eyes.

"Where're the rest of `em?" He growled.

"Gone." Legolas said breathlessly. "Come. We must find the others. I do not know what has become of Lalaith."

At the mention of her name, the fury on the Dwarf's face abated, giving way to a look of concern, and he followed only all too willingly as Legolas darted down the hill in the direction Aragorn had disappeared. Orc bodies lay scattered at irregular intervals down the slope, doubtless, the work of Aragorn's blade as he had fought his way toward Boromir. But when he reached the bottom of the hill, he found something that gave him both hope and fear in the same instant. An orc lay sprawled on its back, its grotesque mouth still open in a sneer, as if it had been cut down mid-roar. But this was not what caught Legolas' attention. Rather, his eyes rested upon the long white feather fletchings of the arrow jutting from its throat. Lalaith had been here. She had encountered at least this orc, and had slain it.

Legolas glanced northward, in the direction from which he had heard the call of the Horn of Gondor. If Lalaith had killed this thing, then perhaps she was with Boromir after all. Legolas turned and sprinted in the direction from whence the blast from the horn had come. Gimli followed him, but fell behind quickly, his stout Dwarf legs unable to match Legolas' blistering pace.

The alarm Legolas had felt at the first sight of an orc pierced through with one of her arrows only grew all the more as he past slain orcs, more than half of them slain by more of Lalaith's arrows. A black heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach. What would he find when he arrived at the end of this trail of dead orcs? He dared not imagine.

Legolas' heart nearly stopped, and he skidded suddenly to a halt, chest heaving, as he leaned down, and snatched up what had once been his bow, the bow he had gifted to Lalaith, from where it had lain abandoned on the trail beside a group of slain orcs. Why had she dropped her bow? Where was she?

"Lalaith!" He cried into the trees about him, despairing as he heard only his own voice echoing back at him. He could hear Gimli's labored breathing approaching from behind as the sturdy Dwarf fought to catch up with him. But he wholly ignored his friend, and sprinted onward, up and over a slight dip in the forest.

He slowed at last to a stop at the sight that met his eyes within a slight clearing of trees. The floor of the clearing was strewn thickly with the slain bodies of orcs, and one lay at his feet, its right arm and head severed cleanly from its body. Aragorn was kneeling some distance away over Boromir who lay back against the roots of a tree, the shafts of three black arrows piercing his chest which rose and fell with quick, shallow, pain filled breaths. Nearby, Lalaith's knives lay askance upon the ground near Boromir, as if they had been dropped in the midst of a fight, the blades covered thickly with black orc blood.

Boromir's eyes were dim, but still they glimmered with recognition when they alighted upon the Elf.

"Legolas." Boromir choked, his voice thick with misery.

At the name, Aragorn glanced up as well, his own expression weighted and drawn down in a grimace of sorrow.

"Forgive me." Boromir gasped with a sob as Legolas drew nearer, fighting to hide the panic that welled within him. "Forgive me. I tried."

His words brought a wave of icy fear crashing down upon Legolas. "Where is Lalaith?" He pleaded, dropping heavily to one knee across from Aragorn. "Where is she?"

At the sound of her name, Boromir closed his eyes, and choked on a sob. "They took her, and the little ones." He managed to choke.

"Frodo?" Legolas breathed, despair weighing his heart.

"Merry." Boromir shook his head. His movements were jerky and weak. "And Pippin."

"I let Frodo go." Aragorn muttered, almost to himself, the despair in his tone echoing the emotions that roiled now within Legolas' heart. "And I sent her with him. I told her to stay with him."

"I tried to take the Ring from Frodo." Boromir choked in a ragged, heavy voice.

"The Ring is beyond our reach now." Aragorn answered gently, though Legolas could find no words in himself to speak. He felt suddenly hollow, as if everything warm and good within his heart had been torn out, leaving a throbbing, bleeding void of fear and pain within him.

"Lalaith?" Questioned Legolas again, denying to himself what he had just heard, his face a mask of grieving disbelief. He would not, he could not believe she was gone. Taken by those-, what would they do to her?

A soft sob escaped Boromir's lips. "I was too weak to keep them from taking her." He paused, breathing raggedly, before he clumsily grasped at something that lay upon the ground beside him, and slapped it feebly into the Elf's hand. "But this I can return."

Aragorn's face took on a look of mild surprise, at Lalaith's golden sapphire ring they had long thought lost where it rested upon a handful of bloodied, crumpled leaves in the Elf's palm. But Legolas' face expressed no change.

"It was never mine to take." Boromir continued between ragged breaths that brought up blood.

Legolas' expression, his eyes focused as if on something in the far distance, did not give any indication that he had heard, until he spoke, his voice even and still. "You love her."

Boromir did not speak. But choked instead, on a quiet sob, affirming his silent answer. "It matters not." He muttered at last, fighting for breath, and choking on his emotion. "I am weak, and unworthy. She allowed Frodo to escape me. And for that, I almost struck her before I came to my senses."

Legolas' face was filled with a quiet grief, his eyes still focused upon something only he could see within his mind. His expression gave no indication of change.

"In spite of what I had nearly done, she forgave me readily, as is her way." Though his face did not change, Legolas nodded slightly in agreement with Boromir's weak, ragged words. "And it was then that I spoke of what I have felt for her from our first meeting. And I-, I-," Boromir drew in a ragged breath and blurted, "I kissed her, Legolas."

Though Aragorn's brow furrowed in sober thought at this confession, Legolas' countenance changed not at all as Boromir finished, "I beg you, do not fault her, for though she permitted it, she did not return it. She loves no other but you."

Boromir drew in and released a breath that spotted his lips with bright flecks of blood as he added in a sad whisper, "I would ask your forgiveness, but I know I do not deserve it."

"I forgive you, Boromir," Legolas managed. His voice was even and still. "You fought for her, and took three arrows in her place. How can I not forgive you after what you sacrificed for her?"

Boromir shook his head miserably. "I could not stop one arrow."

This, at last, elicited a change in Legolas' countenance, for he flinched, and a soft groan escaped his lips as his head dropped, his eyes clenched shut in agony. "Then she is dead?" He whispered in a pain filled voice, dreading the human's answer, and seeing the fair face of his love in his mind, laughing merrily beneath the bright sun of happier times. He could still feel the blissful softness of her, safe within the circle of his arms, and taste the sweet, moist dew of her mouth.

Boromir furrowed his brow, fighting to remember the events of the past minutes. He had thought she was dead, but as the orc carried her away, her eyes had opened, and her gaze had met his for a brief moment. "No, she lives." He breathed raggedly. "But I could do nothing to keep her from falling into their hands. I have failed you all."

Legolas' eyes fell to the black arrows punching through the Man's chest. Doubtless he had fought like ten men in an effort to protect her and the two Hobbits.

"No, Boromir." Through the fog of his grief Legolas heard Aragorn speaking. "You fought bravely. You have kept your honor." Aragorn made as if to retract one of the arrows.

"Leave it." Boromir hissed through his pain, grasping Aragorn's hand to stop him. "It is over." Tears shone in his eyes as he spoke. "Lalaith and the little ones are lost. The world of Men will fall, and all will come to darkness. And my city to ruin."

He grasped the other Man's shoulder with what could only have been the last of his strength, as if silently begging Aragorn to refute the words he had spoken.

"I do not know what strength is in my blood." Aragorn murmured, his words broken and near tears. "But I swear to you, I will find what is lost, and I will not let the White City fall." He finished, his words breaking with emotion, "Nor our people fail."

"Our people." Boromir choked, his eyes glistening with a distant glimmer of hopefulness as if Aragorn's words brought him a measure of relief from the pain and the grief that lashed his body. "_Our_ people."

Aragorn nodded quietly, affirming his words.

A look of pleading came over Boromir's face as he turned his head, and reached for the hilt of his sword that had fallen beside him. Aragorn grasped it, and placed it into his reaching palm.

Boromir clutched his weapon close, his chest jerking rapidly as he fought for what little breath was left him. He turned to Legolas, and a sad smile came to his blood speckled lips. "Tell her-, tell her that she is worth dying for."

Through his misery, a weak smile managed to twitch at the corners of Legolas' mouth. "I will." He vowed quietly, and Boromir gulped at this, and smiled weakly in thanks before he turned back to Aragorn, his eyes filled with mist.

"I would have followed you, my brother." He drew in a ragged breath, "My captain." His words had grown soft, but with an expression of saddened hope upon his face, he managed to finish, "My king."

His chest fell as his last breath escaped him, and did not rise again.

Upon heavy limbs, Legolas rose and stepped back, hearing the arrival of Gimli, his breath labored, and his footfalls heavy.

"Be at peace. Son of Gondor." Aragorn whispered in a choking voice and kissed Boromir's still brow.

Gimli groaned, and leaned heavily over his ax, his face bent low at the scene before him.

Slowly, Aragorn rose to his feet as well, and spoke softly as a tear escaped his eye, "They will look for his coming from the White Tower. But he will not return."

"Boromir fell defending Lalaith and the Hobbits." Legolas murmured in a hollow voice. His eyes fell to the ring in his palm as the leaves beneath it, reddened with blood, Boromir's, or perhaps Lalaith's, sifted away, and drifted again to the forest floor.

"Lalaith?" Gimli grunted, and looked up, his eyes grieving. "Where is she then? Where is Frodo?"

"I do not know." Aragorn answered wearily, cleaning and sheathing his black speckled sword. "Before he died, he told us that the orcs had taken Lalaith, and Merry and Pippin as well. We can only hope that Frodo has crossed the lake, and Sam with him."

"But first we must tend the fallen," said Legolas. He glanced at Boromir's still form. "We cannot leave him lying like carrion among these foul orcs."

"Hmph." Gimli muttered softly, shifting his weight, his eyes downcast. "But we must be swift. He would not wish us to linger. Not while there is hope for Lalaith and the Hobbits."

Legolas said nothing for a long moment, but clenched his fist around the ring. With a soft breath, he slipped it back onto his smallest finger, remembering again what it meant to him. What she meant to him. It was such a small piece of her, so inadequate, when he longed so much to have her here, to shelter her within his arms, and to protect her from all that would hurt her.

He would find her, he vowed to himself, if he had to hunt the orcs that had taken her, all the way to Mordor.

Boromir lay restful, peaceful within the funeral boat they had lain him in, his hands across his chest clasping the hilt of his sword, his shield at his head, while several weapons of his vanquished enemies lay at his feet.

Legolas watched silently as the boat rocked softly upon the water, caught upon the current that carried it with increasing swiftness toward the falls. Upon his back, he carried Lalaith's bow as well as his own, and her knives as well, along with the small daggers of Merry and Pippin, that had been found among the bodies of the orcs that he had hoped against hope, he might give back. The misty cloud rising ever above the Falls of Rauros closed round the boat, and it became a dark spot within the silver shimmer of mist, between the jutting peak of Tol Brandir and the sloping side of Amon Hen, and then suddenly it vanished. Rauros roared on, unchanging.

For a while, the three companions remained silent, gazing after him. Then at last, Legolas turned, and broke the silence as he strode with purpose toward the one remaining boat. Aragorn watched him unmoving from where he stood, tightening the bindings of the bandages that swathed his few wounds.

"May the Valar forgive me that I cannot keep my oath to the Ringbearer." Legolas grasped the prow of the boat, pushing it toward the water. "For I will follow Lalaith. But you must hurry. Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore."

Glancing back, he paused. Aragorn had not moved, but stood as he had, checking the bindings of his own wounds, a thoughtful look upon his face.

Straightening, Legolas turned back. "You mean not to follow them?"

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands." Aragorn said quietly.

Legolas paused, letting the import of what Aragorn had said, sink into his mind.

"Perhaps it has been in vain." Gimli grunted, drawing closer to stand beside Legolas' shoulder. "Perhaps the Fellowship has failed, but I would go with you, my friend, were it my choice. To find the Hobbits, and that Elf-girl of yours."

"It is not in vain. Not if we hold true to each other." Aragorn affirmed, coming and clapping a hand upon the shoulders of his companions. "I would go after Lalaith as well, for Frodo is no longer in need of our help. You need not hunt her captors alone, Legolas. For none of us will abandon her, or Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left."

He turned, strode to a nearby rock and caught up his curved knife. "We travel light." He stated, turning back to Gimli and Legolas. Clapping his knife into its sheath, he said with a terse grin, "Let's hunt some orc."

For the first time since he had learned of her capture, Legolas felt a ray of hope light upon his heart, and he managed a slim smile as Gimli chuckled, and crowed, "Yes!", before he burst in a run, swift for a Dwarf, after Aragorn who had started away through the trees. Legolas' own feet, suddenly lighter than they had been before, darted swiftly after his friends, into the shadows of the trees.

_Phew! I'm done! (With the Fellowship of the Ring, anyway.) I'll start on The Two Towers shortly. The name that story will go by, will be "Lalaith Elerrina-Child of Valinor." _


End file.
